Threads of Time
by Overnight-FMA
Summary: FMA Divergent AU: Upon attempting to resurrect their mother, things went horribly wrong and Alphonse Elric ended up binding his brother Edward's soul to a suit of armor. Their lives have been forever changed since that fateful night.
1. Chapter 1

**New FMA Fan-Fic: "Threads of Time" Chapter 1 + ART**

Premise: FMA Divergent AU where, among other things, it was Ed that ended up bound to a suit of armor by his brother, Alphonse, when their attempt to resurrect their mother recoiled and went horribly wrong. Their lives have been changed forever since.

This story takes place approximately two years after Alphonse Elric became the State-Certified "Full-Metal Alchemist," making the brothers 13 and 14.

Characters: Armor!Ed, Automail!Al, and many more to come!  
Rating: PG  
Pairings: None  
Genre: AU, humor, angst  
Spoilers: None  
Length of this Chapter: 1,885

Writer: "TheRegalTigress" : **LiveJournal**: theregaltigress

Story-Inspired art can be found there as well. :)

**

* * *

**

**"Threads of Time" – Chapter 1**

The still pinpoints of light that littered the night sky reminded him of simpler times.

The world outside the train was dark, so dark, in fact, that as the armored countenance of Edward Elric stared out the window from within his metal cocoon, he could imagine any number of vistas hiding from beneath the cloak of perpetual darkness. Even the usually ever-present moon didn't seem inclined to show its face. Were it not for the steady vibration of the train that made his body subtly rattle, he wasn't even sure he would have noticed that they were moving at all.

As if sensing his thoughts, a voice across from him spoke up, "Are you sure you don't want to play another game of chess, brother?" Alphonse shook a small linen satchel that hung from between white-gloved fingers. The hidden chess pieces jangled and danced as they bounced lightly. He was obviously trying his best to appeal to Ed's competitive nature, which he hoped would win out over his brother's renewed fondness for melancholy. The young boy's smile pleaded with his older brother.

"Nah," came the predictable, metallic reply. It sounded fainter than Ed had intended it to and turned from the window to his brother, "You already beat me three times already tonight. I don't need to make it an even four."

"Oh…" Alphonse smile drooped a bit as he laid the satchel to the side and turned his head to glance out the window as the train sped by unseen scenery. There wasn't anything to see, but he pretended there was.

Ed observed Al for a moment before speaking up, "You should eat," he said crisply, "you've hardly haven't eaten anything since Dublith."

"M' not hungry," came Al's reply, as he continued to stare out the window.

This earned the younger Elric a glare. If he felt it, he chose to ignore it until the last possible moment.

"Just because both of us can't-" Edward began.

Al's head whipped from the empty landscape outside to where his brother's glowing eyes were baring down on him. Even seated, he had to look up to meet Ed's gaze. "Please don't start that, brother. It's not about that. I'm just not hungry, okay?" His voice was even; this exchange was nothing new to either of them.

The suit of armor shifted its shoulders, trying to manipulate its posture to relay its seriousness. But without a face that could show emotion, he was almost entirely at the mercy of his brother to interpret the glare he could feel himself making, but could not express.

Al wryly added, "You can stop glaring at me like that. It's not going to work." As if to solidify his standpoint, the younger Elric firmly crossed his arms.

Ed, who then crossed his more massive arms, met this bold move. One could have almost sworn the small, almost antenna-like flock of hair that looped over the brim of his head twitched in shared agitation.

Much as Al would have been the last to person to openly admit that his somewhat lackluster eating habits had anything to do with his brother's inability to consume food, he knew that deep down, it was something he had in mind each and every time he ate or drank. He felt guilty, though certainly Edward had never done anything to promote that guilt, but Al wasn't sure how in this situation it could be helped. He could eat. His brother couldn't. It wasn't that he avoided eating outright; he just preferred to do it when Ed was busy with something else, be it reading or whatnot. He didn't like doing obvious things like that, which would inadvertently remind Ed of what he'd lost.

Of what they'd lost.

The two brothers stared at each other in looming, stubborn silence, until finally one of them had to break.

Sensing this approach wasn't going to get him anywhere, Ed changed his tactic and reached over to pull a golden yellow pear from Al's dufflebag. He held it out in front of his brother as if it were an offering. His hollow voice softened, "C'mon, Al, eat this and tell me what it tastes like," Ed's foot lightly kicked Al's automail leg, as if driving home his point.

Al's face twitched slightly and his glare softened. Honey-colored eyes moved from Ed's glowing eyes to the pear as he stared at it, debating. Then, with a sort of resigned sigh, he took the fruit and placed it in his own palms. The dirty-blond boy sighed and Ed obediently placed his hands on his lap and waited for Al's predictable next move.

This, like so much between the brothers, was a sort of choreographed dance. They knew each other too well to be able to feign that they weren't subtlety working to manipulate the other. Yet, much as it was still manipulation, it was manipulation with only the best of intentions. In "Elric," it was called "caring."

A white, gloved thumb scanned the pear's outer skin. Alphonse had always been the more observant one before all of this had happened. He was also the more sensitive of the two brothers, certainly. Yet while even now Ed's vibrant, brilliant mind could sometimes put his brother's to shame, it was Al who forever clung to fastidious details of the world around them as if each and every one of them important pieces of a greater puzzle.

Al rolled the fruit around in his hands, feeling the weight of it in the left hand, and the added weight of it along the scarred flesh of his right shoulder. He focused his mind on the sensations in his left hand, because he knew the automail would offer him no useful insight.

Edward watched him and bid his time. Originally when he had begun making such requests it had been acutely for Al's benefit. He didn't want to see Al get sick, or to put his body through any more torture than that damned automail already put him through. He needed his strength, and as such, he needed to eat. It was simple as that.

So when Edward had first discovered this coy form of manipulation, he'd listened to Al, certainly, but he didn't REALLY listen. It's not like Al could tell, after all, for among other things the armor had bestowed upon Ed, he had received an impressive "poker-face." So while Al customarily rambled on with his detailed descriptions, Edward instead chose to mentally distract himself with any variety of other topics, and once Al had finished eating thanks to his lengthy discourse, they could continue on their journey unabated. That was how Ed's plan worked.

In time, however, when Ed posed these questions to his younger brother he found he tuned in to every word and intonation his little brother spoke. His memories of such simple pleasures were hazy at best. It had been so long since he'd eaten, since he'd felt or sensed anything, and Al's sensitive words filled a void that had begun to deepen inside Ed's hollow shell. Al's words, his verbose and painstaking descriptions were a double-edged sword: at once reminding Ed what he'd lost, all the while reminding him what they were seeking to return to them both.

Edward's usually busy mind was focused. Waiting. Watching. Listening.

"Well…" Al began as he removed a white glove from his left hand and moved his fingers carefully over the fragile skin of the fruit, as if it were a sacred object, "well it's a little chilled." His face pursed in concentration, like this were some sort of exam where every painstaking detail counted as much as the next. "And the skin is smooth, but where the mottled parts are it's a bit raised. It's fairly hard, except I guess where there's this little bruise." He closed his eyes reflexively a moment and smelled it with the relish of a wine connoisseur. "It's very aromatic, and smells sort of… tart? Fresh. Ripe." He chuckled lightly, looking up at Ed's face, "I didn't know ripe was a smell."

The glowing eyes that were watching him seemed to smile a little. He wasn't sure how he knew. He just did.

Alphonse looked back to the fruit and slowly, carefully, closed his eyes and took a tentative bite. The armor leaned a bit closer, the soul that was locked to it trying to live vicariously through the young man's words.

"Al…" Ed began, bidding him to continue.

"Hold on, I'm thinking," Al reprieved his brother's usual impatience with the opening of a single, honey-colored eye. He could feel a bit of the juice slide out from the corner of his mouth as he spoke, and he promptly rubbed his sleeve along the corner of his mouth before he closed his eye and continued the pear "experience."

"It's really juicy and sort of sweet and tart all at once," he let the flesh of the pear dissolve inside his mouth as he at once tried to concentrate on the texture of it. "It's a little coarse and lumpy, like thick porridge or something, with a little bit of sand mixed in… kinda gritty I guess? But in a good way." He chewed again, "The taste is light. Very watery and very pulpy."

He stopped chewing to swallow and opened his eyes, "There's a bit of a tangy aftertaste. It reminds me of that feel when you're out in a field or something, you know? And you go inside and you can still smell the grass on you. It's just sorta stays around. The aftertaste is kinda like that."

"Are they better than the ones from the Melbrooke's farm?" Ed ventured.

Alphonse deliberated only a moment before firmly shaking his head 'no,' "Nah. Those ones were a lot sweeter, but this one's still pretty good." He broke eye contact with Ed the moment he could feel his own guilt start to predictably creep up on him. There was an uncomfortable pause as he added, "We'll have all sorts of good things to eat when you get your body back." With an affirmative nod, Alphonse went back to his pear.

Ed groaned, "We have to have gone over this at least a hundred times now, Al. And as the older brother, I'm telling you that we're getting your arm and leg back first," The armor leaned back, firm in its resolve. "And besides: you can't argue with me."

"Can to," came the predictable reply, which sounded a lot juicier than normal.

"Can not," came the echo-filled voice sitting across from him. A large, leather-gloved hand waved in the air between them, "And you should get some sleep. I wouldn't want to be seen having to carry around the famed "FullMetal Alchemist" tomorrow," Ed teased.

At this Alphonse rolled his eyes and took a final few bites of pear, "I don't know who's ego would be more damaged."

"Are you saying I have a big ego?" Ed asked incredulously.

"Me? Whatever would give you that idea, brother?"

The armor made a sound that to Al's own ears could only have been a defiant snort. "Like you're one to be talking, HalfMetal."

This remark earned Ed not his first narrow-eyed glare that evening from the little brother he loved more than life itself.

* * *

Feedback is greatly appreciated:) (And there is _much_ more to come!) 

-Kymba


	2. Chapter 2

FMA Fan-Fic: "Threads of Time" Chapter 2 + ART

Premise: FMA Divergent AU where, among other things, it was Ed that ended up bound to a suit of armor by his brother, Alphonse, when their attempt to resurrect their mother recoiled and went horribly wrong. Their lives have been forever changed since that fateful night.

This story picks up three years later: approximately two years after Alphonse Elric became the State-Certified "Full-Metal Alchemist," making the brothers 13 and 14.

Characters: Armor!Ed, Automail!Al, and many more to come!  
Rating: PG  
Pairings: None  
Genre: AU, humor, angst  
Spoilers: None  
Length of this Chapter: 2,416

**

* * *

**

**"Threads of Time" – Chapter 2**

By all accounts it should have been raining harder.

Not sprinkling, not even a gentle, soothing "light rain." No: by all accounts the blackened sky should have simply opened up and released a sheer DELUGE of water. It would have been fitting, if only to appease a stoic figure's sense of cosmic irony.

It would have been more fitting, certainly, but instead the sky seemed intent to "tease" Edward Elric with a perpetual misty drizzle that showed no sign of stopping.

It was the dead of night at the train depot. Ed wasn't sure precisely what time that was, and he didn't have any way of checking since he'd sworn off carrying any sort of watch about a year earlier. He found when he'd had it that he had begun checking the time frequently, almost like some sort of nervous tick. And since he couldn't sleep, when he found he was almost religiously checking it every five or ten minutes throughout the long days and even longer nights … well, eventually he'd concluded maybe watches really weren't his "thing." After all: Al had his State Alchemist's pocket watch, so if he really needed to know the time, he could always ask.

Though he never did.

A watch or clock of any sort would have been helpful at that precise moment, however, if only to gauge exactly HOW late the train was that they were supposed to have long-since caught on their way North, towards Central City. When he found out who was responsible, a perturbed Ed swore he'd give that special someone a piece of his mind and make them wish it had been THEM slowly rotting away (or rusting away, as the case may be) in the dreary weather instead.

That late train and weather were only two items on a growing list of things Ed blamed for his miserable mood.

The train depot where they were supposed to catch their transfer seemed to eerily half-exist as if it were trapped within some sort of unexplainable void. To say it was "desolate" would have been putting it lightly. There was no one else around, and outside of the reach of the few orange-cast lamps overhead, there seemed to be absolutely nothing but perpetual darkness surrounding them, threatening to creep in and consume what light there was.

Diffuse light hung in the thickened air and reflected against slick stone. Listen as he might for the rumble of an approaching train, the only sound to be heard was the quiet murmur of the light, chilled mist falling over his own armor and the occasional "tap" of larger rivulets of water finding their way to the glistening cobblestone platform. This low symphony was accented every now and then by the crackle of the lamps overhead (one of which refused to stay lit, and spontaneously flickered in ways that prodded at Ed's patience).

After waiting in the rain for about an hour, Al had called in surrender to the midnight hour and had retired to one of the benches to catch a quick nap. Before he had gone to sleep the younger Elric had groggily added, "Just wake me up when the train comes or when you need me to take over your shift, okay?"

In the moments after, a silence had hung, transfixed in the air between them, and they both knew why.

Al was well aware that not only didn't Ed sleep, but that he COULDN'T sleep. And based on Ed's current mood, Al thought it was best to not give his brother anything more to lament over if he could possibly help it. Yet there it was: he'd done it again without even trying.

But before Al could backpedal and apologize for his verbal faux paus, Ed had forced out a light, joking sort of chuckle and had used one of his large, leathered hands to ruffle his little brother's dampened hair. The movement also had an unexpected virtue in that it sent a trickle of water down Al's face. This seemed to break the younger Elric from his concerned gaze and he promptly made face and closed one eye while he utilized a corner of his collar (which was only somewhat wet) to blot the renegade droplet from his face. He was so preoccupied while he was doing this, in fact, that he didn't notice the second droplet of water trailing the first until it had already stealthily slipped under his collar and ran down his spine. Al had twinged and made a short, high-pitched noise as the icy-cold sensation hit him and without hesitation, and in fact, with remarkable speed considering how tired he was, he had frantically slapped at his back to keep the drop from travelling any further.

These unexpected antics were met with bright, ringing laughter from Ed, which of course claimed complete innocence to Al's plight. In return the elder Elric received a squinted, accusatory glare from his brother, who was fastidiously adjusting his collar so as to avoid a repeat experience. This only made Ed laugh harder.

When Al had reclaimed some fraction of his dignity, Ed spoke up, "It's okay, I think you could use the sleep more." With a playful tilt of his head he added, "Besides: for all the times you accuse ME of being 'lazy,' I'm sure you can get away with some shut-eye just this once. I won't even tell the Colonel you were asleep while on the clock."

Al had grumbled lightly and looked at Ed only a moment longer, trying to read him as he always did. Trying to see past the banter. Yet, it was the allure of sleep that finally caught up to him and put his sibling considerations on hold. "Fine, fine," came a resigned, yawned reply.

Ed, however, knew his brother well enough to know that was the tone he used when he was drawing a truce. He fully-expected that Al would attempt to get back at him when he wasn't running on empty (though Ed admitted it was sometimes undoubtedly "fun" to pick on Al when he was tired because the results could be rather amusing to his twisted sense of humor).

After that Alphonse had tried to get comfortable, which he found to be nearly impossible considering that everything around them was not only rigidly constructed to outlast both the outdoor environment as well as heavy public use, but everything was also wet. Not a single variety of overhanging offered them shelter from the perpetually menacing weather.

Eventually Al had fallen asleep while sitting next to his brother on the bench, but within minutes he was slumped over with one of his arms acting as a makeshift pillow between his head and Ed's metal "thigh."

Initially Ed had smiled to himself and lightly shook his head at the ridiculousness of it all, but as the minutes, and possible hours drooled mindlessly on, he found himself glancing to the cloaked figure to his side with greater and greater apprehension and concern.

Alphonse was tightly curled in a fetal position while he slept. While his steel-blue cloak was offering him at least casual protection from the troublesome precipitation, it was hardly protecting him from the chilled air that windlessly slid its way around them. Ed couldn't feel the weather's penetrating glare, but he knew it was there.

The fact that it was raining was almost a misleading tease if there ever was one, for just as the rain seemed to saturate everything around them in a perpetual haze, the rain just as easily slipped over lingering icicles that forebodingly hung from platform signs, as if to remind them that were it only a few degrees colder just then, that there might be flakes of snow rather than the disquieting mist.

But the Elrics were ill-prepared for this weather. And that only made Edward feel the guiltier.

For as Alphonse slept, it was not a peaceful slumber. He would shudder here and there from the cold, or the moisture, or both, and he would shift in his sleep, trying so hopelessly to find a position that would put his body at ease.

But that sort of release would never come.

His breath fogged the shiny metal of Ed's leg, while the soul trapped within the armor helplessly watched his ailing younger brother. His mind wrapped circles around itself as he tried to figure out anything, anything at all he could do to help him, but in the end, as so many times before, he came up empty-handed, with no clever scheme to guide him.

The emotion he felt watching Al's disquieting slumber had deeper resonance inside of him, however, because he knew that mixed in there somewhere was a most profound variety of deep-rooted guilt. One particularly potent flavor of this guilt was only partially concealed beneath his brother's rain-soaked clothes.

Ed's glowing eyes couldn't help but notice Al's white gloves, which might have in camouflaged his "condition" in better weather. But at the present moment it was obvious to see by the way the water-saturated white cloth had gone semi-translucent, that beneath the thin fabric was the unnaturally rigid shape of an automail hand.

Ed's guilt became more pointed in that moment as he reminded himself that one of the primary reasons for Al's current discomfort was precisely the automail that was crafted to resemble something he should never have been without in the first place.

This was "condition" that, for all intents and purposes, Ed believed to be entirely his fault.

When Ed had awoken from within the armor after the failed transmutation of their mother, he had found Al lying nearly lifelessly beside him, dying of bloodloss. That was an image Ed would keep with him forever, reminding him that all of this was due to his own misguided failings.

The guilt he carried with him only heightened in the days and weeks after that. Seeing his brother suffering through the impromptu amputation of his arm and leg had ripped at Ed in ways more cutting than even their mother's death. The grand scheme to bring her back had been his brainchild after all. The ways in which he'd ignored or written off every single warning along the way were all his doing. If anything, it was Alphonse that had spoke up as the voice of reason during the whole affair and had cautioned them both. Yet it was grief tempered with hope that had spurned the two of them on, and it was Ed that grandly led the way to ruin, blindly quieting his brother's concerns.

They became masters of keeping secrets. From Auntie Pinako and Winry, to even Izumi, their teacher. In the end, in fact, they were so good at keeping secrets that they even kept them from each other. Al had ceased speaking up to Ed about his doubts about human transmutation because he wanted to believe it was possible. He wanted to believe with the conviction Ed believed. He wanted the idealistic outcome, and he worried that even bringing up the cracks in their plan might jinx it to certain failure.

Al loved and trusted his older brother with every part of his being. He trusted Ed knew best, that his elder brother would guide them both and restore their family to the way it once was.

But, in Ed's mind, Alphonse's trust had been misplaced. As the older brother, he berated himself that he should have been smarter. That he should have taken all the blatant warnings they saw more seriously: especially the warnings about alchemic recoil. How could he have been so careless with his brother's life?

He believed that he should have noticed how much Al was hurting from the loss of their mother. Rather than try to layer his younger brother's sensitive heart with almost fairytale-like promises, Ed swore he should have found a way for them to move on and be thankful that as long as they had each other, they'd still have a "family." He should have been thankful. Not greedy.

But he was a child, then, and children do selfish, greedy things. And aided by his stubborn nature and childlike naivety, Ed had so erroneously believed they were smarter than the adults around them: more clever and more dedicated. He believed they were working within the laws of equivalent exchange … that even if the transmutation didn't succeed, that it couldn't possibly get any worse…

…but it did.

And it was all his fault. Every bit of it.

And yet, just as ironic as the dreary weather that mirrored Edward's mood, fate had struck against the Elrics yet again, and it had sought to make Al suffer for the heavy guilt that Ed felt that he, and only he alone rightly deserved.

As Al lay curled on his side, reflexively twitching now and then to the painful circus of nerve-signals that raked his body, Ed was reminded why he swore he had to make his brother's body whole again. But in the meantime, it seemed like a sick joke that his brother had to suffer in the interim.

The automail had been Al's idea to begin with. Struck with a determination that could only have grown from loss, the young boy had stuck to his beliefs and had intently gone through all the preparatory surgery without looking back.

Seeing Al's conviction to have automail was something Ed was unprepared for, and something he wouldn't deny him. He thought that had their situations been reversed, he probably would have wanted the same thing: to be able to walk and function as normal even if the limbs weren't flesh and bone. After all that had happened, the last thing Ed wanted to imagine was Al restricted to crutches or a wheelchair for the rest of his life.

Yet again it was Ed's idealistic, childhood fantasies that assumed the automail came at no cost to the wearer. While Auntie Pinako and Winry had both warned Al that it was an agonizing process, and not for the faint of heart, automail was also flashy, and to young eyes it looked almost undeniably modern, a bit intimidating, and profoundly "cool." Certainly Ed knew it was a painful process, as he could clearly remember sitting outside the Pinako household and hearing adult screams from within (which, at the time had seemed kind of funny, in a detached, childlike sort of way).

But Ed was not prepared for his brother's screams.

* * *

This chapter was due to be longer, but I thought this was a nice point to "cut" so posts don't grow unbearably long. 

Well, that and it means I can get this chapter posted sooner. smiles

I have some art up for this story but I can't figure out a proper way to link it here, but please please: stop by LiveJournal and search for "theregaltigress" and see the accompanying paintings I did for this story if you can spare a minute: you'll be glad you did!

Thank you for taking this journey with me, you guys! Feedback, as always, is very much appreciated and extremely encouraging. :)

-Kymba


	3. Chapter 3

**FMA Fan-Fiction + Fan Art: "Threads of Time" Chapter 3 + ART**

Premise: FMA Divergent AU where, among other things, it was Ed that ended up bound to a suit of armor by his brother, Alphonse, when their attempt to resurrect their mother recoiled and went horribly wrong. Their lives have been forever changed since that fateful night.

This story picks up three years later: approximately two years after Alphonse Elric became the State-Certified "Full-Metal Alchemist," making the brothers 13 and 14.

Characters: Armor!Ed, Automail!Al, and many more to come!  
Rating: PG  
Pairings: None  
Genre: AU, humor, angst  
Spoilers: None  
Length of this Chapter: 3,709

Chapters + Art (on LiveJournal)

* * *

_Slight apologies to my readers: I had plans for what this chapter was supposed to be, but apparently the characters had plans otherwise._

_Since it is "their" story, I defaulted to their judgment … this time. :)_

* * *

**"Threads of Time" - Chapter 3:**

In the days and after the failed transmutation of their mother, Ed had become nearly inseparable from Al. It would be weeks before the subject of automail ever arose within the Rockbell household, but for the moment the Elric brothers had taken up safe haven there to recover from the befouled experiment that had gone so dreadfully wrong.

Throughout the early hours, Ed had helped Winry and Pinako tend to Al, whose body had certainly had taken the brunt of the previous night's "experience." Ed had been so preoccupied watching over Al, in fact, that it had taken nearly half a day for him to notice that the armor he was now trapped within was still stained with blood: Al's blood.

The discovery had made him go rigid, and with not more than a few words to Pinako he had excused himself and fled out the front door and into the dreary morning. Stumbling into the side yard, he turned on the water spigot and had quickly taken to the task of hosing himself off.

He could feel himself trembling as a rough leather hand much too large to be his own fumbled with the hose while his other hand frantically rubbed at some of the dried blood that was so caked on that it all-but needed to be scratched off. He stood outside in the bleak weather and as the rose-tainted droplets fell from his body, he couldn't help but feel as if he were baptizing himself in blood. The water rang against his hollow chest, leaving little doubt that the armor was indeed vacant. That this wasn't some horrible dream that he could wake up from at any moment.

No, it was real. The fact he couldn't feel the water, couldn't feel ANYTHING: that was "real" too. But as he scrubbed, he tried to push it all out of his mind. To just ... just "pretend" for a moment that what he was scratching at was not his little brother's blood. That it was something else. Anything else. Something benign and harmless that didn't recollect the horrors that were still frighteningly fresh in his mind.

As he worked to purify himself from the telltale signs of the previous day, he took notice that the deep burgundy stains were not coming out of the periwinkle-colored loin-cloth that was wrapped around his waist. He must have seen that suit of armor a hundred times in their basement, but he'd never noticed the loincloth until just that moment. With a frown, he tried to work it loose, and after finding no success at that, his impatience and frustration got the better of him and he simply ripped it off.

He could clearly remember thinking how it didn't matter anyway. It was just a piece of fabric. Besides: wearing it didn't make him look any more like himself, so why should it bother him to get rid of it? He could find another one.

He'd tossed the stained fabric aside and continued to thoroughly disinfect himself. He thought he'd gotten most of it off when he'd heard, rather than felt, a stray bit of water fall through his open "neck" into the cavity of his chest.

His fingers failed him in that moment, and the hose fell out of his hand. The glowing white orbs he now had in place of his eyes went wide as he remembered: remembered the Bloodseal. It was the only thing keeping Ed attached to this world, and Al had told him those precious markings were written somewhere inside him. Also, in Al's blood.

He stood there a moment. Waiting. Seeing if anything would happen. If he felt … anything different.

But nothing happened. He must have gotten lucky.

_For possibly the first time in my life_, he'd drolly added to himself.

But crisis or not, he couldn't believe he'd almost just carelessly washed it off! His mind was reeling, imagining what would happen if he wasn't there for Al. He rapidly pushed those painful thoughts aside. He needed to be there for Al. After all that had happened, he couldn't believe he'd been so careless!

He wasn't sure how long he'd been standing there, but the next thing he knew, he heard the water beside turn off, and from somewhere below him, a reserved version of Winry's usually demanding voice spoke up, "I brought some towels out to help you dry off." Her young blue eyes were looking up at him as she bit her lip. He was sure she probably had more to say, but whatever it was, she decided to let it pass.

Her arms were full of towels, more than he thought any one person should be able to hold. Ed had known them long enough to know that these were their "good" towels they used for company, not the scrap ones they used for all variety of repairs. He had to admit, he found it touching that even looking as he did at that moment, Winry was still trying to see him for who he was rather than the new, imitating appearance he gave off.

"Oh. Thanks," Ed managed as he reached down to take the bulk of them. He grew uncomfortable under her uncertain gaze, and slowly and deliberately, he turned his attention back to the hose as he chanced a glance at the discarded loincloth.

Winry, however, didn't move. She stood there, looking up at him as if she was still trying to let it sink in that this towering figure was the same young boy she'd grown up with. That she'd mocked and played games with. Right at that moment, Ed could distinctly imagine her taking a deep breath before she proceeded to chew him out for putting he and Al up to what they'd done.

After watching Ed start to haphazardly dry himself off, she finally cleared her throat and found her voice. Ed winced, anticipating the onslaught of rightly angry accusations.

Instead, she simply asked, "You want some help with that?" and lightly shook out one of the towels she was holding.

After recovering himself, Ed's next reaction was the one he usually had when anyone offered to "help" him, and that was that 'no, he'd do it himself.' But when he turned back to look at her, he could see she wasn't offering because she thought him incapable: no, she was offering because she really did want to help him however she could, and probably because she was feeling as similarly lost as he was. Ed had never thought about it that way until that moment, but along with losing her parents, she'd also nearly lost her two closest friends in the events of the previous night.

Trying his best to stifle a resigned sigh, Ed slowly nodded, "Yeah, sure."

Neither of them said anything more while they tirelessly worked to dry Ed's carapace in the dawning light. It was of course in Winry's own nature to make sure that, like a good piece of automail, he was almost inevitably polished to a healthy shine.

If Ed noticed, he didn't complain.

* * *

The hulking suit of armor lacked any resemblance of coordination or grace as the soul grafted onto it struggled to make sense of his new existence. But in its own way, the suit was a blessing, because without the human need to sleep, it meant that Ed could tirelessly sit beside his sickly brother and make sure that his condition didn't worsen. Ed could listen to Al's breathing while he slept and make sure it didn't grow more ragged or shallow as the night progressed. He could check the bandages on Al's shoulder and leg to make sure there hadn't been any renewed bleeding, and he could change the pieces of wet linen that lay draped across his feverish forehead. 

His little brother looked so fragile and innocent as he lay there in bed, surrounded by stark white sheets and Pinako's own colorful family quilt, which was so neatly drawn around him. Originally Al had been in one of the medical beds the Rockbells used for their patients, but as Al's conditioned worsened, Pinako had decided to move him into a regular bed, surrounded by family heirlooms and a comfortable assortment of toys and gadgets. Thought she never said so at the time, in hindsight Ed wondered if Granny Pinako had done that in the hopes it would inspire confidence in Al's recovery, and likewise so that Ed would not have to see him lying in a sterile medical bed much as their mother had in her final few days.

Most of the time Al's body was rigidly tense and immobile. His face was tautly drawn in a pained sort of expression mirrored by a set of closed, squinted eyes. He didn't really move or stir much in his slumber, but Granny Pinako had assured Ed that Al was improving, and that he'd pull through.

But when Ed had looked in her eyes, he'd seen that fraction of doubt. He knew that even though she wouldn't admit it to him, that she wasn't sure that Al actually WOULD pull through. He was growing worse, not better, and Ed knew when adults were lying to him: they'd done it for years each and every time Al had naively asked if their father was coming home soon, or if their mother was going to get better.

But in the end Ed had only learned that adults could lie just as well as children could. The only difference was that sometimes adults could lie to themselves as well.

But Ed had still clung to that hope that Al was going to get better because it seemed it was the only thing he had left for him in his life. He didn't want to imagine the possibility that he'd helplessly watch his brother die lying in bed just as their mother had. He didn't want to think about what he wanted his last words to Al to be. In truth, he didn't know what he'd do if Al left him. He couldn't live with himself knowing that his own careless actions had killed his only brother: the only family he had left as far as he was concerned. The same brother, in fact, who had saved Ed's own life by sacrificing his arm to bind Ed's soul onto a lifeless suit of oversized armor. Ed didn't want to think that Al's noble gesture might have unwittingly cost him his own life.

All of it just wasn't fair.

So Ed sat beside Al on the bed while the moon seemed to peek in through the window, illuminating the room, as well as a small doll that sat against a chest of drawers. Winry had wordlessly slipped the doll in there sometime earlier that day, and at the time Ed had thought it a bit peculiar, but he decided not to inquire about her reasoning behind it at the time.

Now, however, in the half-light, Ed recognized the doll: it was the same doll he and Al had made as a present for Winry so many years earlier when they were fist learning about alchemy. She must have put it in the room for good luck.

He picked up the doll and with one oversized hand and traced his finger over the fabric he couldn't feel, but he tried his best to imagine. It wasn't flashy, certainly, but the craftsmanship was decent. To him, it seemed like a time capsule from so very long ago: a time when alchemy seemed half-magic, and a game that could create amazing creations.

Yet, even then, things didn't always go as planned. The creation of the doll had terrified Winry, and in the same way that dark, slowly morphing form had taken her by surprise, Ed knew that he would forever carry with him the mangled visage of their own partially transmuted mother.

But the doll, simple and clean, so well tended and loved: it reminded Ed of a time before alchemy had such very real consequences. He couldn't believe Winry still had the silly childhood trinket, but he guessed she must have been more sentimental than he gave her credit for.

With a sigh, he put the doll back where Winry had placed it, making every effort to put it back just as he had found it so that Winry wouldn't suspect it had been tampered with. Then, Ed sat down on a wooden chair he pulled to the side of Al's bed, and looked out over where Al was resting, and up at the moon.

It was the silence that got him. And for perhaps the first time in his life, Ed felt so entirely and completely alone. For the first couple days after the "accident" Al was understandably in pain, but he was still happy to offer an encouraging word here and there to Ed. Then he began to spend more and more time sleeping. Sometimes, when he'd wake up, for a moment he would be scared and confused, as if he almost expected to wake up and find that his frantic transmutation had failed, and that Ed and his spirit both were locked away somewhere unreachably far away. But even in his half-delirious state, the moment he saw the animated suit of armor or heard Ed's voice, he was so hopelessly overjoyed to know Ed was there, "safe," and "alive." It was all that mattered to him, it seemed.

But there were other times Al would wake up screaming, as if from a nightmare, and would be momentarily confused where he was, what was going on, and why he couldn't feel his arm and leg. When it all would come flooding back to him, he'd fall back into his pillow and just lay there in silence next to Ed while he caught his breath. Then, just as certainly and sincerely, he'd repeat how glad he was that Ed was okay.

But a day later, he stopped waking up altogether.

And it was all Ed could do to ignore Winry's harsh, muffled sobs that regularly came from the other room.

Ed had always thought he had to be strong enough for the two brothers. After their mother had died, Ed had sworn not to cry, to not to show weakness. He wanted to be a beacon of strength for he and Al, even if he didn't always feel it. Yet this, this was the hell he had single-handedly led them to.

And now: he wanted to cry. He wanted to cry so much, and he couldn't. He'd made harsh, hollow-sounding whimpering noises to the half-darkness, but it wasn't the same thing. There couldn't even be the remote bit of satisfaction and release that came from feeling tears slip down your face only to run off into oblivion. He was denied those bittersweet tears just as much as he was denied his happy ending.

So instead Ed sat in the wooden chair beside Al, and for possibly the first time in his life, he found himself praying.

He wasn't sure exactly who or what he should be praying to. He had never really subscribed to anything that could be considered "religion" especially after their mother had died and he'd sworn off there being any sort of god altogether. No benevolent god he could imagine would rip away their mother like that. No, there didn't seem like there was any sort of divine justice, since it was moreover obvious to him that the wrong soul was suffering for his own blind and foolhardy mistakes.

But he was young, and in that moment he didn't know where else to turn. The person he wanted to talk to and confide in most at this moment was lying beside him with sweat pouring over his flushed, pained face.

But when Ed established there was at least the fleeting possibility there was a god, at first he was angry. The words he'd cursed under his breath were tainted with hatred for whatever diety had not only taken away their mother (and Winry's parents as well, he noted), but now that same higher power seemed to enjoy toying with his little brother's life as well. His poisoned monologue kept him company.

Eventually, however, his anger had run dry. He'd laughed bitterly, and hung his head. His mind shifted, then, wondering how it was that it felt like it had been an eternity since he'd last done something so simple as laugh.

Only four days earlier he'd spent an evening huddled under a makeshift "fort" made out of chairs and blankets with Al. The fort had been Al's idea, actually, because he'd thought that the blankets would more aptly conceal that he and Ed had returned to their old house. They were, of course, up late scheming and running their final series of alchemy experiments to the flicker of a candle that illuminated their homespun "fort."

They had stayed up all night, eagerly whispering about the possibilities of their arrays in tones so hushed it was as if they worried about being overheard.

They'd laid there on their stomachs, letting them knot in eager anticipation as they asked each other what the first thing was they would say or do when their mother was alive again.

"I'd tell her how much we missed her, and I'd hug her until I couldn't feel my arms anymore!" Al had announced with a hopeful grin flooding his face.

Ed had responded with just as much limitless young passion, "And I'd tell her I love her, and then I'd ask her to make one that one stew we both like! Then we could stay up really late and do alchemy for her, just like we used to do! I bet she'd LOVE that!" He rolled triumphantly onto his back.

"Only YOU'D think of food at a time like that, brother," Al had gently teased and shaken his head.

They'd laughed and smiled; blissful in the moment. They had each other, and that sacred bond was all they ever needed. The two of them had been so entirely unaware that things were due to go horribly wrong, and that that would be the last time they would ever share those special laughs and smiles that were so full of untainted, "perfect" childhood innocence.

But as Ed sat in his metal prison and watched his brother's pained expression, with his young face so beaded with sweat, he found that eventually his anger subsided, leaving him once again alone: hopelessly numb and perpetually empty.

He looked up to the moon, then, so fresh and bright against the cloudless Risembool sky. Ed wasn't sure what he felt just then, or why he started whispering, but soon he found he was apologizing. He apologized for everything he could thing of: for little white lies he'd told teachers, to secrets so embarrassing he'd never even told Al. He confessed everything, everything at all.

And then, he began to plead.

With every ounce of himself he appealed to a higher power he doubted even existed just in the off chance it did. He wasn't sure that if it even DID, if it would spend its time listening to a exceedingly sinful skeptic like Ed, but Ed hoped there was a spot of pity left in the universe for someone like him.

He swore up and down that if Al would get better, that things would be different, and he begged that he'd do anything, anything at all to keep Al with him, "He's the only little brother I have," he added in a shallow voice weak with pain and emotion.

When even his makeshift prayers had run dry, he just sat in solemn silence as he resumed listening to Al's breathing. Listening. Hoping.

But nothing had happened.

The sun crept into the sky and fell again. Granny Pinako came in off and on to check on them, and each time she did, Winry stood silently shadowed in the doorway, afraid to come closer and just as silent as the small shadow she mimicked.

Soon, Ed was alone again, and the stars crept out and the clouds parted to make way for the pale moon.

But nothing changed. The night rolled endlessly on while a family of crickets serenaded the darkness outside the open window.

Without notice, Al's breath suddenly hitched, and immediately Ed took notice, getting to his feet in a blind panic.

"Al?" He said as his worst nightmares were helplessly coming true right before his eyes, "AL!?" His voice crackled as he struggled to control the balance of the body he had only recently begun to possess.

But only a moment later Al's chest rose and fell as the young boy took a deep breath. Slowly, his breathing stabilized and continued unabated. Still standing, Ed looked from Al to the door, as if trying to determine whether or not this development warranted waking up Granny Pinako. He worried this somehow marked the start of Al's final hours. There was so much they hadn't done, that Ed had gotten the chance to say. There was so much life that was supposed to be ahead of them both, and Ed wanted Al there with him, not to be simply a faded memory lying beneath the earth of another family grave.

He didn't even get to say goodbye.

Ed didn't have a throat to feel tighten, but he could hear his body creak while the ailing soul trapped within it whimpered, bidding unseen tears to flow.

While his head was still turned to the door, however, a raspy voice beside him softly spoke up. "We're gonna be okay, brother," was all Al whispered, his voice barely louder than the crickets outside.

It was all he needed to whisper, because moments later Ed had loudly and clumsily fallen to his knees beside the bed to bury his face in the corner of Al's pillow. Slowly, but intently, his little brother had taken his trembling hand and cradled it around his older brother's head.

For once in Edward Elric's life: he believed. He wasn't sure exactly what he believed in, but he believed.

And in that moment, that was all that mattered.

* * *

_Hopefully after this I can get back to my original "plan." This was not the "flashback" I was intending, but I thought it was really integral to build upon for some of that is coming in the future. (Interestingly enough: this was something I assumed happened, but never planned on writing, but I thought it would help readers better understand where these "Elrics" are coming from).  
_

_  
Of course: I was ALSO planning Chapter 3 to be out by this weekend, but my muse proved otherwise. Oo  
_

_  
This entire chapter was written to two tracks from Ghostland's __first CD, "Interview with an Angel,"__ so if you want the full multimedia experience (art+writing+music), I'd highly recommend downloading 5. "Out of the Woods" and 6. "Calming the Sea." The CD has a great somber/melodic feel to it._

_Please, please also remember I have fresh art up for this chapter up on LiveJournal under user: "theregaltigress." :) Come! Share the visual journey as well!  
_

_  
In any case: I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! The feedback and comments I've been graced with so far are so entirely humbling and extremely encouraging. I love hearing what people are thinking/feeling about this (back)story/world so far:) It gives me pondery for future chapters too!  
_

_  
Thanks so very much again! _

-Kymba


	4. Chapter 4

**FMA Fan-Fiction + Fan Art: "Threads of Time" Chapter 4 + ART**

Premise: FMA Divergent AU where, among other things, it was Ed that ended up bound to a suit of armor by his brother, Alphonse, when their attempt to resurrect their mother recoiled and went horribly wrong. Their lives have been forever changed since that fateful night.

This story picks up three years later: approximately two years after Alphonse Elric became the State-Certified "Full-Metal Alchemist," making the brothers 13 and 14.

Characters: Armor!Ed, Automail!Al, and many more to come!  
Rating: PG  
Pairings: None  
Genre: AU, humor, angst  
Spoilers: None  
Length of this Chapter: 5,329

Chapter 1 + Art (on LiveJournal)

Chapter 2 + Art (on LiveJournal)

Chapter 3 + Art (on LiveJournal)

Chapter 4 + Art (on LiveJournal)

* * *

In my head, Chapter 4 was fairly "brief," but once I typed it up, it became apparent to me that it would do best if I broke it up into two parts (I suspect this is the longer of the two… at least I hope it is…. On paper it is a lot longer than I was suspecting. Oo). 

So: ahead of schedule, here is Chapter 4! (And I swear upon Trisha Elric's grave that there is a light at the end of this tunnel of flashback angst! XD).

Likewise: I hope you guys enjoy a "peek" into a rather different version of a part of the Elric "mythos" that was only very, very, very briefly captured in the anime.

As always: enjoy!

* * *

**"Threads of Time" – Chapter 4**

One. Two. One. Two.

Heavy, restless footsteps paced back and forth over the worn hardwood floor of the Rockbell household. Sometimes they were deep and resonant, and other times they dragged out in low tones that scuffed the wood and made Den's ears twitch during his lazy noonday slumber.

The black dog, for his part, seemed entirely unimpressed.

One Two. One two. A pause, and then heavy, strained silence filled the hallway momentarily. A beat passed, and just as predictably, the rhythmic footfalls returned, so anxious and abrasive they all-but dug trenches into the sturdy oak planks that lined the figure's battlefield.

All the pacing in the world, however, could not distract Edward from what he knew was going on just behind the closed door he hovered only feet outside. The purpose of pacing, after all, was to tire the body in hopes of calming the mind. Intrinsically, he knew this. Ed's body, however, couldn't tire, so all that the pacing did was beget more pacing, which grew more overtly nervous and frantic by the minute.

He'd always hated needles. The images they called to mind were frightening to any sane young boy: doctors poking and prodding him, and moreover merrily SMILING as they jabbed needles into bare flesh. Ed swore that doctors must have a sick sense of humor to begin with if they enjoyed torturing children like that. It just wasn't right.

He supposed, somewhat sardonically, that that particular fear should be far from his mind at the present moment considering his current condition, but he couldn't shake the knowledge that in the other room, Al was likely getting a variety of needles jabbed in him at that very moment, and there was little Ed could do about it.

That, however, was not the worst of what was planned for that day.

Granny Pinako had insisted Ed wait in the hallway for the duration of Al's impending automail surgery so that she and Winry could have full and complete concentration on the task at hand. While Ed had insistently tried to argue against her request, he'd found Pinako's firm "I mean business" tone left little doubt that Ed specifically BELONGED in the hallway. Ed supported the surgery, certainly, but that didn't mean he had to be happy about being left in the hallway to wallow in worry, or more importantly, it didn't mean he had to be pleased with the specifics of the procedure itself. ESPECIALLY since he knew it would be painful to Al, and after Al had gone through recently, the last thing he wished upon his little brother was the prospect of more unavoidable pain.

Even though it had been nearly a month since the failed transmutation, the memory of Al coming so painfully close to death still haunted Ed. Being the older brother, however, Ed knew it was his definitive responsibility to reassure Al that it was all going to be okay. While Ed's words of sibling strength sought to put Al at ease for the upcoming surgery, there was subconsciously a part of Ed that spoke those words to calm himself as well. He didn't want to imagine anything going wrong. Granny Pinako and Winry had to have done HUNDREDS of these things, right? It was a common enough procedure. He just wanted it to go smoothly, and moreover: quickly.

But even Ed knew that the procedure carried a slight risk of things going wrong. And while after Ed's brotherly pep talk had been met with a determined, almost impressively courageous gaze from Al, Ed was glad in that moment that Ed's own worried expression couldn't show through his blank, metal countenance.

Al might have been able to read the worry in Ed's voice, however, so Ed thought it best to not speak up further unless he really needed to.

The room seemed so tense, the air so thick with anticipation. Even Winry, who was usually so calm and self-assured, seemed slightly nervous. She wasn't about to assist in an operation on a nameless stranger; no, she was about to on operate on a childhood friend.

And that only made Ed more nervous.

But Ed supposed he couldn't blame her nervousness for his own. After all: Ed hated needles. Actually: he wasn't really fond of blood, or medical "things" either. While he respected there was some intrinsic value to doctors that were proficient in wielding scalpels and all variety of sharp medical tools, he really wished that Al wasn't to be today's chosen subject. He wished so, so much, that it could have been himself instead. _He's already been through so much…_ Ed thought as he guiltily paced out his punishment in the hallway.

The household had been seemingly humorless since the overcast night Ed and Al had tried to make their childish dreams a reality. Even Winry seemed uninterested in instigating the sort of pointed teasing she usually did with Ed. It was as if, on that fateful night, that humor had drained out of their lives entirely, leaving somber, subdued versions of themselves in its wake. Ed could hardly remember what it was like to find anything funny at all, and he doubted he'd be able to find any humor in anything ever again until he found a way to return Al's rightful limbs to him.

"I'll be fine, don't worry," Al had said from the operating table with a smile Ed knew all too well, because, well, he used to use it on Al all the time. That certain variety of smile that seeks to reassure as if through sheer will alone.

But that was almost an hour ago, and Ed was still busily pacing. He could hear his footfalls with a sort of detached awareness, but he wasn't paying attention to his steps anymore because his hearing was entirely focused on whatever was taking place in the room beside him. Quietly (or at least more quietly than usual), Ed moved his body closer to the door to see if he could hear what was going on inside. He could make out muffled voices, and some tools being moved around every now and then, but he couldn't identify what EXACTLY was going on. And that was what he wanted most: details, specifics. He wanted to know how the surgery was going and, more importantly: when they were going to be done.

Like any curious young boy, Ed attempted to put his ear to the door to get a better listen. This choice of action, however, met with rapid failure. He quickly discovered that likely on the account of no longer HAVING ears, that leaning the side of his head against the door didn't noticeably aid his ability to overhear what was going on inside, and moreover: he rapidly relearned that the dimensions his body now occupied were larger and certainly WIDER than before.

One of his shoulder-spikes glanced along the grain of the door and made a loud, metallic BANG which left little room for suspicions as to the cause of the disturbance. This, in turn, not only left a prominent gouge in the immaculate brown door, but it also jarred it open, and it took a split-second for Ed to frantically fumble and pull it shut again.

Hopefully no one noticed.

From the living room, Den lifted his head to questioningly observe Ed. Moments passed and a renewed, strained silence filled the household. Den seemed to take notice of this shift, and with a hearty yawn, he got to his feet and happily trotted down the hall towards Ed, his automail limb clicking happily over the hardwood floor. Ed spared an accusatory glance at Den before he inwardly cringed at the noise of his approach. Ed attempted to wave the canine off when he noticed the operating room had gone unexpectedly quiet.

For his failed efforts to eavesdrop, the armor-bound boy received a booming, "ED! We know you're out there! Stop trying to snoop! It's distracting!!!" from Winry.

Den whined and sat at Ed's feet while the suit of armor muttered darkly and resigningly took a step back to stand a WHOLE foot or so away from the door. With a huff audible to even the Rockbells inside, Ed crossed his arms. He was glaring daggers at Winry through the door. He didn't care if she had every right to be angry: Ed thought HE had every right to be there with Al during the surgery. It was the brotherly thing to do. Standing out in the hallway, unable to see what was going on, well it made him feel entirely helpless. And if there was anything Ed hated more, it was feeling helpless and not in control of what was going on around him. Particularly if it concerned his brother.

So, he calmly pet the big dog, and then Edward Elric resumed pacing. Pacing was something he could do. He was a pro at it.

He'd walked a six-foot line about seven times, however, when he heard the first pained noise from within. Al had whimpered, a pained, slow sort of noise, and without even thinking, Ed had stopped pacing so that the noise of his body wouldn't drown out what was going on from within the operating room.

* * *

Inside, the younger Elric was watching the Rockbell women with wide eyes that sought to hide his apprehension. Al's inner monologue found pleasure in repeating that he'd already lost his limbs, so anything that was being done that day had to pale in comparison to the way the gate had ripped at his leg, and then his arm. He'd taken the preparatory surgery well after all, hadn't he? This should just be more of the same. A cakewalk if there ever was one. 

To the best of his ability Al tried to ignore what was going on in favor of other thoughts. Anything would do. He thought about springtime, and climbing the big maple trees that lined the Melbrooke's farm. As fresh pain shot through him, he closed his eyes and ground his jaw as he thought about sitting around eating popsicles, and how he and Ed had always fought over the red ones. He was just starting to reminisce about how he and Ed used to help their mother rake leaves (and how one time Ed had blazingly done a running jump into one of the piles… and right onto an angry raccoon), when Granny's calm voice pulled him away from his fond memory.

"Al, next we're going to have to drill into your collarbone to anchor the base of the automail for your shoulder. The area should be fairly numb by now, but the sound of the drill might be a little unnerving. You need to hold as still as you can, alright?" Her voice was gentle and reassuring. The only problem was the actual content of the words that were coming out of her mouth were promptly sending goose bumps up and down Alphonse's spine and settling somewhere in the back of his stomach.

Al's eyes went wide as he glanced down to his collarbone, the edge of which was stained a sort of unnaturally bright orange from some sort of medical disinfectant. Surrounding that were a series of red marks that had been painstakingly drawn onto his flesh with a sort of marking pen that smelled tremendously foul. While a part of him questioned what Pinako was proposing (the part of him that really didn't like the idea of anyone drilling ANYTHING into his body), he knew that in the end, he would be better off for the surgery, even if it was somewhat uncomfortable in the interim. _That was all it was going to be: uncomfortable._ He mimed internally.

His nose itched, and in the split second it took his mind to send signals to his right arm and be met with silence, Alphonse frowned. With his bare shoulder exposed, it was hard to miss that that there was no arm there. There was hardly anything that could even lovingly be called a "stump." Instead, there was a discrete lack of arm, and in its place were a variety of textures and colors of thick scar tissue leading to where his arm used to be.

Al lifted his left hand to scratch at his nose and noticed both Winry and Granny were looking at him, as if waiting for a response.

"Oh, okay," was the best response he could come up with under the circumstances. Granny had already detailed the entire procedure to him hours earlier (at which point Ed had taken it upon himself to get a breath of fresh air before returning to listen to the entire endeavor again. Al had thought if a suit of armor could go pale, Ed had successfully managed it). To have the operation going on right in front of him, to his own body though … that was an entirely different story. It was hard to be detached from the situation when there were bloodied scalpels lying nearby, and an IV notched securely into his arm.

Granny nodded then, and by the way Winry looked back at her and then at Al, Al could tell that this was when things were due to grow a lot more intense.

And a lot more painful.

Under the sound of the drill, Al found his attempts to keep his composure were faltering. His throat whimpered unbidden, and his eyes were uncustomarily watering. Drips of sweat threaded their way down his face, and he could feel the heat of the surgery lamps all-but baking his skin under their harsh glare.

Granny Pinako and Winry both wore white masks that covered their faces. When the pain momentarily subsided long enough for Al to chance opening an eye, he saw that Winry in particular seemed to be doing her best not to look at Al's face. It was as if she was trying to entirely distract herself and imagine it was someone else they were operating on, and not the body of a child, of a dear friend, even younger than even she. Al had seen automail affixed to soldiers that had returned from wartime missing limbs, but as he lay there, thinking, he found he was actually unsure if he'd ever seen automail on someone his age before. Maybe that was part of the reasons Granny had been so surprised when they'd brought up the idea to begin with?

Over the next thirty grueling minutes, the Rockbell women worked to lay the foundations of what would become Alphonse's automail. All the while, Al had admirably managed to tolerate his fate, and was trying his best to keep his eyes squeezed shut as he forced himself to imagine whatever things he could that were furthest removed from there harsh reality that was taking place around him. Kittens were top among the contenders.

Al was certain the numbing shots must have done something to help the pain, but he was rapidly losing faith that they were doing ENOUGH, because it seemed like each part of the surgery was growing more and more painful, and no variety of shots were helping.

Sweat was pouring over his flushed face as Al focused on keeping his mouth shut. When he'd made a small yelp minutes earlier he'd accidentally bit down on the corner of his tongue, and he was now intent to not endure a repeat experience.

He wondered how Ed was doing. He knew Ed was always queasy around medical stuff like this, but he could also tell Ed WANTED to be there, and had been rather put out when he had been resigned to wait outside. Intrinsically, Al understood WHY, but that didn't mean he had to LIKE it. Much as his own sense of pride had blissfully imagined strongly skating through the whole procedure with flying colors and then pleasantly strolling out to meet Ed baring new, shiny automail, the reality of the situation was turning out to be something altogether. And whether or not those were tears seeping out from the corners of Al's eyes, he selfishly wished Ed was closer, if only to reassure him that he was doing just fine, and that it would all be over shortly. Al assured himself that it wasn't infantile to desire Ed's company at such a time. Al was positive he was a mature young man in his own right.

If it hadn't been for all that had transpired, Al could have almost imagined Ed cracking some sort of joke about all of this, but Al had a sinking feeling that part of Ed had died that night when his body was taken. He wanted to talk with him about it so badly, but he didn't know how. He worried doing so would only reopen old wounds that had just begun to heal. But they needed to find a way to heal, somehow.

They needed to get Ed's body back.

He was so much quieter than normal. So much more inward and brooding, and Al didn't have any idea how to (successfully) approach that side of Ed. His older had always been so headstrong, so bold and forward thinking. If anything, the Ed he was most familiar with was cocky, not brooding. Or perhaps he'd just been better at hiding it when it seemed like they had a clear path to their "happily-ever-after?" 

Al wasn't sure, but he worried about his brother. And he worried that sealing his soul to that armor might have resigned Ed to a fate worse than death. That in that moment, Al had been so selfish and scared that he would have rather cursed Ed to that half-existence than be alone.

Al would endure the automail. He would endure it, because it was only with a fully functional body that he would figure out a way to get his brother's body back.

* * *

The whimpering continued in the makeshift surgery room while Ed alternatively paced or helplessly stood in frustrated silence outside. Now and then he could hear Pinako and Winry discussing things between themselves, then talking whatever it was over with Al. Ed wasn't sure if he'd ever heard Winry's voice so soft and demure. It was as if she was trying to soothe a stray kitten. In the rare instances where Al would speak up, his voice sounded so hoarse and breathless that it sounded to Ed like his brother had sooner finished running laps around the school property than lying on an operating table. 

He reflexively shuddered.

There was more discussion. Technical machine jargon mixed in with surgical terms that just made Ed shudder harder as his overactive imagination played vivid tricks on him. Images with bloodied scalpels and surgical tools danced menacingly through his mind.

And the surgery just went on and on.

It sounded like it was going well. That's what he wanted to tell himself, at least. Granny Pinako's voice was calm, unpanicked. Al sounded like he was in pain, but he was baring it just fine. Ed was exceedingly hopeful they were over the worst of it.

But Ed was not prepared for his brother's screams.

The first one came out of nowhere, shattering the thick silence that surrounded Ed. In that instant he was taken back to THAT night, when he'd first heard Al's scream as his leg was being eaten away by those strange, dark ribbons. Reflexively, Ed too a step back, telling him self to calm down, that he NEEDED to calm down. Winry and Pinako had it under control. It was just a painful experience, he knew that. This was nothing out of the ordinary.

He could hear Granny talking to Al, her voice a bit louder than usual as she tried to talk over the shrill shrieks of pain he was making. She offered him words of encouragement as she reminded him, gently, that they were connecting each nerve strand, and that it would be over soon. He was past the longest part of the surgery, and that this part just was the most "uncomfortable."

Al's screams, however, seemed to imply otherwise. Ed had heard Al scream before, certainly. But this was on another level altogether. His voice was shrieking, and between screams, Ed could hear him beginning to plead with Winry that this had all been a bad idea, that they could stop what they were doing. It was okay, he didn't need the automail anyway.

The scream after that rung through the house. Ed futilely covered the sides of his head with his oversized leather hands, hoping that somehow that action would drown out the noise of his brother's shrill, anguished cries, but he found no such luck.

He tried to tell himself it was all okay. Al was going to be fine. But deep inside him all he kept thinking was that now, after all that they'd been through: Al was having to suffer for Ed's own mistakes yet again. It wasn't fair. It wasn't goddamn fair.

While he tried to drown out the pained cries, however, they only grew higher in pitch, and more pointed in the amount of suffering they conveyed. It was as if Al was dying in there. And Ed could do nothing.

Ed knew tears were coursing down Al's cheaks, he could hear it in his voice, in the way he was half sobbing as he screamed, and begged, and PLEADED for them to stop.

Ed could hear Granny talking, but now he couldn't make out what she was saying over his brother's hoarse cries. His imagination was playing horrible tricks on him as tension continued to mount. His hands were gripped tightly by his sides as he tried his best to convince himself that his only little brother was not about to die on that operating table some ten feet away.

And then, Al had cried out two words that shook Ed to his very foundation.

"_MOM!!!_ **BROTHER!!!**"

In that instant, nothing could keep him from Al. Not Winry, not Granny Pinako. No one. Something deep inside of him shifted and responded without question: Al needed him. NOW.

Ed took his nearest hand and gripped the doorknob. Still unaccustomed to his newfound strength however, it broke clear off in his hand as he scrambled to throw the door open as quickly as possible.

Al's eyes were squinted closed, and he had tears running from the corners of his eyes. Granny was hovered over his shoulder holding a section of the automail arm in one hand, some wires in the other, and a tool of some sort between her teeth. At the commotion behind her, she turned in Ed's direction, and Ed got a clear look at the operating table his little brother was lying across.

The corner nearest him was dabbled with bright crimson blood, and the empty area where Al's left leg used to be was similarly stained from the initial stages of the day's surgery. If anything, the sight of fresh blood gave Ed pause if this all was ACTUALLY in his brother's best interests, or if he should have spent time trying to convince Al out of his decision to get automail limbs.

Al wasn't necessarily aware of the reasons behind why the jolts of pain had stopped, but in moment it took for the gathered crowd to take notice of eachother, Al had slumped his head back on the pillow to harriedly catch his breath.

It was Winry that reacted first. It was as if all the repressed anger that she was capable of suddenly came boiling up to the surface at once. Ed could see her eyes go dark as she furiously yelled at the room's intruder, "EDWARD ELRIC! Granny said to wait outside, now WAIT OUTSIDE!"

Ed wasn't sure if in his entire life he'd seen her so outraged. At that moment his mind didn't connect it to the fact that Al's surgery had been interrupted, or that Winry was instinctively reacting out of concern that Ed's sudden entrance might have done irreversible damage to Al or his ailing nerves.

No, in that moment all that Ed saw was that she was red-faced, and absolutely FUMING. At him. Certainly he'd seen her upset, but this was on a level he was entirely unaccustomed to, and even after Al's pointed cry for Ed, the expression on Winry's face, the way her eyebrow was twitching …. it gave him pause.

Ed stood in the doorway to the room with the doorknob still gripped in his hand. He hadn't planned this far ahead, and he wasn't sure what to do now.

Winry, however, had already secured a course of action.

While Ed took a moment to glance at Al to make sure he was okay, a flurry of movement came from Winry's corner of the room. And a wrench blindsided the elder Elric.

In another circumstance it might have been almost humorous. When Winry couldn't get her point across verbally, it was in her nature to throw things, and Ed had certainly been on the receiving end of more than one tool in his lifetime.

In this instance, however, rather than delivering a simple a metallic "clang" to drive Winry's point home, the wrench squarely hit the side of Ed's head … and promptly knocked it clean off.

Now, everyone in the room was painfully aware that Ed had lost his body in the incident of a month previous. They KNEW it was from within an empty suit of armor that he spoke with them, interacted with them. Yet because it moved like a normal person might, it was easy to forget: to buy into the illusion that Ed was simply INSIDE the armor, able to come out at will if he so desired.

Yet as his head flew off and first slammed against the far wall, and then skidded along the immaculate tile floor before slowly rolling to a shaky stop … well…. it left little doubt of the severity of his "condition." That there WAS no little boy trapped within the armor who could effortlessly escape at will. No. The armor was empty, and quiet. Even Ed did not miss the haunting moment when the "eyes" on his helmet faded out, leaving empty voids where Ed's very soul usually peaked through into the living world.

Pinako's eyes went wide as she stopped whatever she had been doing to look between Ed's head and his now eerily headless, but still very animated body. Winry's mouth was open and what had originally been a face full of almost wolverine-like aggression suddenly turned to a look of horror as she slapped a hand over her gaping mouth.

And Al…? Al was looking from the decapitated suit of armor to the matching head lying lifelessly on the floor with the most profound expression of pain and guilt Ed had ever seen.

It took Ed a moment to register what had even happened. He heard it, certainly (it was hard to miss the gunlike BANG of metal impacting metal, especially if it was "you" it was impacting), but he found he couldn't feel it at all. He couldn't feel anything. And that was possibly the most disturbing part of the whole thing.

When it finally registered what had happened, he quickly ducked down and retrieved his head as rapidly and nonchalantly as he could manage under the circumstances. Silence still spilled over the room as he finally got around to setting the broken doorknob down so he could properly adjust his head. Once securely in place, his white eyes faded back into view.

Ed took Winry's stunned silence as initiation to approach Al.

Al's eyes were still wide as he regarded his brother through labored breaths still reeking of pain.

"You doing okay?" Ed quietly managed, unsure of what else to say under the circumstances.

Whether or not Al registered his brother's question, he instead responded with a question he felt was much more important, "That didn't hurt, did it…?"

Ed chanced a quick glance at Winry (to make sure she wasn't planning on throwing anything else) before replying, to Al, "Nah, I'm okay."

Both of the brothers seemed to have a lot to say, but neither seemed interested in volunteering their inner dialogue at the present moment.

Granny Pinako had taken the moment to pause, swallow, and regain her composure. She glanced around the room and its occupants to the door that was now helplessly jarred open. The petite woman straightened herself and took charge, "We need to finish. Edward, if you are going to stay, you need to stay quiet and out of our way. Do you understand?"

This shook Winry from her thoughts, and he shot her grandmother a look of disbelief and betrayal. But didn't say anything.

"Yes, Granny," came Ed's unusually submissive response.

Pinako motioned quickly, "You can take a seat on that chair," she said pointedly to Ed before addressing Winry once again, "We're going to need to reattach the last nerve-strand we did. Can you hand me the coupling grease?"

While Pinako and Winry set about their business, Ed took a seat by Al's left side. When Al turned his head to face Ed, Ed started to speak up, to be the big brother he thought Al needed just then, but in response, he had received a harsh warning glare from Winry. He couldn't begin to imagine the pain Al was going through just then, and he didn't want to make it any worse than he already had.

Sighing in frustration, he resigned himself to his fate and just sat. Al's watery amber eyes watched his own until pain predictably arced itself through Al's body once again, and he went rigid, screaming out as he clenched his flesh hand tightly by his side.

Ed glanced helplessly at Pinako while he tried to will her to read his thoughts. Of how much watching Al in pain ….again …. was killing him inside. How he just wanted to comfort his little brother, but he didn't know how. He felt lost all over again.

Pinako had caught his eye, and she did the strangest thing: as she held a tool between her teeth, she offered Ed, of all things, a small smile. It wasn't the condescending smile adults sometimes used with him, nor that uncertain smile he'd seen when they were worried if Al was going to pull through. No: this was a genuine smile, a smile that understood, perhaps more than he thought she could. A smile that seemed to know something he didn't.

As Al squirmed in pain beneath her, Pinako had sort of tilted her head quickly to the side, trying to communicate through gesture with Ed. He'd tilted his own head, curiously, and ever so softly the aging woman had chuckled under her breath as she placed one of her free hands to hover inches above Al's exposed shoulder, bidding Ed to mimic her.

Ed understood then. And slowly, carefully, he moved his oversized leather hand over Al's good shoulder and placed it there, hoping that the gesture would somehow convey that all the love that he had pouring out for his little brother right then. He hoped that that simple touch that he couldn't even feel would somehow communicate that he was going to be with Al through this. That he WANTED to be with all through this (even if he hated needles).

Al's body spasmed with pain as the surgery continued, but, unbidden, Al's free hand came and wrapped itself over and around Ed's as he gripped on, as if for dear life. He clenched Ed's hand as if it was the last thing holding him down to this earth. _Don't leave me!_ His mind cried out. In response, Ed gently, reassuringly, squeezed his brave little brother's shoulder: he wasn't going anywhere. _Don't worry:_ _I won't._

He wouldn't leave Al's side. Not then. Not ever.

* * *

_I'm still about 1-2 chapters away from being out of these incessant flashbacks, but there is a minor story arc I need to finish and another two I need to establish. Fear not though: there are times of humor ahead!  
_

_  
In any case: I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! It was a lot longer than I planned, but I figured since the anime never really went into this sort of "section" in any depth at all, that it would be interesting to draw it out, and moreover show the very different bond this Ed and Al are developing even this early on (in the anime, if you will recall, Al sat in the hallway while Ed underwent surgery. Ed, as it so happens, also managed to bear the pain better and not cry out. This... went a little differently. ;) )  
_

_  
And I thank each and every one of you for all the inspiring, humbling feedback I've received thus far. :) I hope I'm doing your encouraging words justice! And please: if you have any questions or thoughts, or "what about...": please please run they by me:D I ADORE input and dialog from readers! It makes my muse squirm in all the best ways! laughs  
_

_Please, please also remember I have fresh art up for this chapter up on LiveJournal under user: "theregaltigress." :) Come! Share the visual journey as well!_

_  
Thanks so very much again! And have a fantastic Sunday!_

_-Kymba_


	5. Chapter 5

**FMA Fan-Fiction + Fan Art: "Threads of Time" Chapter 5 + ART**

Premise: FMA Divergent AU where, among other things, it was Ed that ended up bound to a suit of armor by his brother, Alphonse, when their attempt to resurrect their mother recoiled and went horribly wrong. Their lives have been forever changed since that fateful night.

This story picks up three years later: approximately two years after Alphonse Elric became the State-Certified "Full-Metal Alchemist," making the brothers 13 and 14.

Characters: Armor!Ed, Automail!Al, and many more to come!  
Rating: PG  
Pairings: None  
Genre: AU, humor, angst  
Spoilers: None  
Length of this Chapter: 3,411

Writer: "TheRegalTigress" : **LiveJournal**: theregaltigress

* * *

**"Threads of Time" – Chapter 5**

The automail surgery had gone smoothly. At least that's what Alphonse had been told.

His body, however, was begging to argue the point.

Alphonse was well aware that the usual recovery time for such operations varied anywhere from about a year and a half to three years. Somehow, he'd artificially concluded that he was due to be on the lesser end of that spectrum, and so as he had lain in bed recovering from the preparatory surgery, he'd carefully mapped out what he believed to be each timely step of the entire recovery process.

He assumed he would be in pain, certainly, but he also believed that the pain would be short-lived and would subside quickly. After all: hadn't that been just what had happened when his arm and leg had been severed from him? ….Well, assuming the alchemic recoil could be considered "severing."…

But as Alphonse lay in bed three weeks after the automail surgery, he found that his timetable for recovery seemed to be very, distinctly, wrong.

_VERY_ distinctly wrong.

He was still in a lot of pain and discomfort even after this long. Everything seemed dreadfully sore: even parts of him that, as far as he was concerned, _shouldn't_ have been sore. It was a different type of pain too: not the slow, ailing one that had had him in fevers shortly after the loss of his limbs. No: this was a more explicit sort of "shooting" pain that he hadn't really planned for.

When he'd plotted out the aftermath of the surgery in his mind (after all: it wasn't as if there was much else to do after the first hundred or so hours of laying in bed), he assumed his first days would be spent resigned to his bed, but then after that, he'd be able to be up and about. He suspected he'd probably have to be in a wheelchair for a few days, but he was hoping he could be in crutches within the week. He'd be sore, but it would be tolerable. After all: hadn't he endured the loss of his limbs just fine? This should be the EASY part.

Apparently, however, his limitless optimism hadn't been in a fair discussion with reality. That or reality had won a game of cards with a royal flush. Because as Alphonse lay there staring at the ceiling (every inch of which was now firmly ingrained to his memory), he was doing his best to keep as entirely still as possible so he wouldn't' cause himself anymore pain than absolutely necessary.

And that was no easy task.

Every time he slowly (oh EVER so slowly) breathed in and out, he could feel pain shoot through his right side and into what felt like the center of his chest. Certainly it had occurred to him that the automail had to be anchored on somehow, but he hadn't really stopped to consider that that would mean drilling into his collarbone and what remained of his shoulder blade. He hadn't totally grasped that the surgery would involve threading bolts and makeshift anchors through flesh and muscle that was still very much alive, and who made it extremely clear that they were unhappy about being disturbed.

And it was swollen: oh how it was swollen! Even the raw areas that had been covered with scar tissue, areas that, for all intents and purposes should have been made numb from earlier weeks of trauma, seemed to scream that this whole "automail" thing wasn't all it was hyped up to be.

And what frustrated Al most, besides the fact he felt like a painful, bedridden lump, was that he still couldn't really _move_ said automail.

That little detail hadn't been in his plans either. He'd just supposed that after the automail was set and connected that it just… worked.

Oh, he could wiggle two of his toes, and twitch a joint here or there on his hand, but that didn't really count as "moving" to him. The motion was jumpy, uncontrolled. The Rockbells assured him that coordination and finer control would come in time, but it would have made Al a whole lot happier if, after three weeks, he'd at least have been able to move some of the more important joints (like his elbow), because at that very moment, it felt like someone had grafted a rather hefty set of paper weights onto him.

But now and then, Al would try to move the little joints, as if hoping that if he tried just ONE more time, he'd experience a miraculous breakthrough. It seemed he was always frustratingly optimistic like that. He tried not to be, sometimes, but he just couldn't help it. But when he _did_ try to twitch one of those digits, he was at once greeted with a fresh shot of pain. It HURT. Not where it should have hurt either, but in the muscles and tendons that stretched up the back of his thigh, and in another set that seemed to reach directly from his underarm to the screaming nerves along his spine and then straight up to the very core of his brain, thus giving him the most fantastic headache he could ever remember having.

Al laid still after that little exertion. He could avoid trying to twitch limbs and digits his brain said should have rightfully been there, but he couldn't avoid the regular pain that came from just _breathing_.

From amidst the plush bed and it's brightly-colored quilt (which Al found ironically cheerful considering the prevailing household mood), he let a frustrated half-sigh, half-groan escape his lips as he tried to adjust his shoulder to get more comfortable. That was yet another thing he hadn't considered before the surgery: even laying still on his back proved a challenge since he didn't lay "flat." The rigid size and shape of the automail shoulder in particular put pressure on weird places along his back, as if he'd accidentally laid down on top of a mountainous pile of spiky metal toys). Lying on his back was simply proving to the best of a pitifully small variety of options. If he could at least move his arm (which he couldn't), he could try lying on his side again. He knew the pain from that position wouldn't be any less than what he already had to tolerate, but at least it would be a different VARIETY of pain. It would give the bolts on the back of his shoulder some temporary relief.

He hoped.

As if reading his thoughts, a voice ever by his side spoke up. "I can help you move your arm for you if you want me to." Ed offered what assistance he could, "Maybe we can try a pillow or something?"

Ed was trying his best to watch over Al, as he had been for over a month now. It was still very much a work in progress, however, because the two brothers had no experience in dealing with these sorts of situations. In the past, when one of them had gotten hurt, it was usually nothing serious, and if it was anything more than a bruise, "mom" would usually be called in to take care of it. Even when they were studying under Izumi, neither of them had never been seriously injured, and in the instances when someone had ended up on the (always) losing side of a spar with Izumi, she herself would make sure to patch them up.

But Ed? Ed had little experience at ALL in personally dealing with this sort of thing. Even when he had done something to upset Al in the part, he'd usually been able to track him down by the creek that lined the back of their property and without words, he'd been able to give his brother a rustle of the hair and a pat on the back (or in more extreme cases, a sibling's reassuring hug), and then everything had been okay again. That was how they worked. Ed had never been very good with words; he was good with action.

Al turned his head to look to Ed's voice and then cringed when one of the muscles on the side of his neck screamed out that turning in that manner was a VERY. BAD. Idea. Why did it have to be that everything was so connected? "Arugh," he started before continuing, "Pillows? I guess we can try that." Al shifted a little, and he could feel the strange guilt he carried beginning to sneak up on him once again. He felt so… "helpless" lying there with his body complaining, when it seemed, in his own mind, unfair that his brother had been left without a body at all.

There was a strange gap between the brothers now. Something both of them wanted to bridge, but that neither of them wanted to directly approach. So often one would get close to actually saying what was on their mind, but then at the last moment, they would so elegantly back off.

Al wanted to ask Ed about what had happened that night… about how Ed was doing… but as he had so many times before, he just couldn't do it. Not yet.

He could hear the telltale signs of Ed's movement by the quiet metallic creaks he registered to his side. There was the rustling of fabric, and then Ed's glowing eyes were over him, "Do you want to try laying on your… "normal" side this time?" Oh, how Ed skittered around words. How they both did, really. "I can put the pillow under your other arm so the weight of the automail isn't against you."

"Okay," Al said as he started to roll over to one side, and was suddenly forced to close his eyes and lock his jaw shut when his nerves suddenly came to vibrant life. He kept his jaw tensed for fear of screaming out if he let it do otherwise.

An oversized hand at his back was helping guide him, though, and moved what appeared to be many more than one pillow around him, into a sort of cocoon around his torso which distributed the weight of the new limb away from his flesh. "There. Is that good?"

Al took a breath and adjusted to the fresh variety of new sensations of pain, but ones, thankfully, which seemed to be less "pointed" than the ones of a moment or two before. It didn't hurt to breathe, as much. He'd take that as an improvement any day. "Yeah. That's a lot better," he replied after letting the rush of throbbing subside, "thanks, brother." He was trying to get his pained voice to convey his sincerity, but he wasn't sure Ed was picking up on it. Instead, he was still too busy trying to play the role of some makeshift, worried mother hen.

Ed told himself that he'd always appreciated Al, but he found after their first close call, he had begun to rapidly re-evaluate things. Long nights at Al's bedside had given Ed pause to consider his subtly shifting role as the "elder brother."

It had always been Ed that Al looked to for guidance. He was the natural leader, and Al had always been happy to follow in his footsteps. Certainly Al had a bit of a rebellious streak: all little boys do, but his rebellious streak was absolutely nothing compared to that of his bold brother. In fact, even Al's own insubordinate moments seemed modeled off that of his older brother.

But in recent weeks, Ed found he had a new companion through his endless waking hours: self-doubt. His mind was still trying to wrap itself around so much, and he felt as if someone had simply drained his confidence away, leaving nothing left but an empty void where he used to draw his passion from, his motivation, his very _direction_.

But he didn't WANT to lead right then. He wasn't even sure he wanted someone to take care of him (his ever-present ego swore that that would be a gross misconception), but more and more often lately, he felt like he needed time to just …. mourn. He'd mourned the loss of their mother, certainly, but he'd done it discretely, underneath his façade of strength he put on for Al's sake. But now he actually FELT like mourning the loss of so much more: of his mother, of he and his brother's own childhood innocence, of the perfect "happily-ever-after" that would never come… and he couldn't even find the strength to do even that. To mourn. Not with Al laying only feet from him, tense and suffering.

Edward didn't trust himself anymore. And on top of everything else, in his own mind he'd screwed up so horribly, so unforgivably, put Al through so much pain that he had now begun to believe that his own strong-willed judgment, so helpful when he needed to "lead" and press on, must be irreversibly faltered somehow. He refused to trust it anymore. As the days wore on, he began to adopt the firm belief that he was moreover entirely _incapable_ of redeeming them. After all: what had he done but make matters worse for them both?

Silence enveloped the room again. Seeing Al was now situated, Ed went back to sitting in the wooden chair by Al's bedside and returned to his self-imposed, guilty misery. Minutes passed, and he was so busy stewing in his own mournful symphony that Al's fretful voice caught him completely off guard.

Incredibly slowly, Al's voice softly spoke up in the darkness, "….Brother…? ...Did you…..see mom?…."

It took a moment for Ed to even register Al's words, and even then, he clearly missed the context. His echoing voice spoke only of child-like confusion, "What?"

"Did you see mom…" Al repeated, even a little more softly, as if he was afraid to be airing his words out loud in the open, "when…. we …..?"

Al's words registered with Ed then. At least the basic implication of them did. Ed's voice was quiet, but a touch tense, as if this was a familiar subject to him, but something not easily approached. "We both saw it," Ed said, "but that wasn't her."

Ed, however, wasn't answering the question Al was valiantly attempting to ask. He pressed on and shook his head, cringing when even that small motion sent his nerves screaming, "No, not then. When…."

"When else would I have seen her?" Ed said, perpetually growing more confused by the minute. He looked at Al and wondered if maybe he was missing the point of Al's question entirely. The impatient child in him wanted Al to just spit out whatever it was he was trying to say, while another part of Ed felt this was indeed a dialogue more safely discussed at arms length, whatever it was.

Al was quiet then, as if he absorbed Ed's words and was trying to consider his next words carefully. Exceedingly softly the younger brother replied, "…when you weren't there…"

Then, and only then, Ed understood.

Al wanted know if Ed had … seen the afterlife? Of course he hadn't: he was still very well alive, he was just … bound to the armor. Yet much as Ed reasoned out his own reality, he tried, then, to retrace his memories of that fateful night once more, just like he had so many, many times in the weeks since it had happened.

And just as before: he came up blank.

It wasn't blank, as if he'd simply forgotten. It was a sort of void, as if the memories were SUPPOSED to be there, but that they'd been sucked away somehow. He remembered seeing Al's leg starting to be ripped away by those strange, coursing ribbons, but then…. nothing. Nothing at all. Just that frustrating _void_ until he remembered waking up from within the suit of armor, seeing Al bleeding so profusely, and his own clothing lying sprawled and eerily vacant along the edge of the transmutation circle they had worked so diligently, so lovingly, on.

But Al was looking at Ed now. His deep amber eyes were full of pain, but also something Ed was beginning to believe was a deeper sense of guilt. It was a guilt Ed couldn't understand. Al didn't have anything to be guilty about: he was the victim in all this, not the instigator.

But what HAD really happened on that night? And HOW had it happened? Ed wanted to know so much, but he couldn't push himself to ask Al about the details. Not just then. Not yet.

Al continued to look at Ed with those pleading eyes, and eventually Ed had to speak up (though how he didn't want to). He could sense Al wanted to hear a specific answer to his question, but Ed offered him the only one he knew, hoping, just HOPING it was the "right" answer, the one that would put his brother at peace.

Ed's voice was so quiet it almost didn't seem to echo, "No, I didn't see her." He debated saying anything more for fear of upsetting Al, but his own curiosity was gnawing at him as he added, "I don't remember anything. I mean, anything from when we started the transmutation until I woke up… like this."

There was more pervasive silence that coated the room like a thick, sticky lacquer. Al's expression changed to confusion momentarily as he took in the new information. "Don't… remember….?" Al's young mind could grasp many things. It could grasp death, like his mother's. It could grasp fear in ways no child should, such as the frantic moments when his brother was nearly snatched out of his reach. It could even, _even_ grasp the flicker of hope he still had for he and his brother to find a way through all this.

But Al's mind couldn't grasp how Ed couldn't _remember_. He'd assumed all along that Ed knew something, and, true to his Ed-like-nature, wasn't divulging it for fear of upsetting Al. He hadn't even thought to consider that Ed didn't _remember_ …

…but then, Al digressed, he also hadn't thought that the array they'd drawn so tenderly would lead Al to be temporarily bedridden while his only brother waited out each passing day from within a suit of hammered steel.

Ed just shook his head slowly from side to side, "No. . Nothing." His voice made it sound as if it was a personal failing for him to not be able to remember some of the more horrific events from that night. He thought he should, for all the times Al had spoke of them amidst sweat-drenched nightmares. But Ed didn't know, and much as he tried: he couldn't remember. And that scared him.

But Al could remember. Every detail, he could remember. But he didn't want to talk about it just then. He was still trying to figure out the implications of what he'd just learned. Slowly, he shifted himself slightly into the pillows, winced at the pain, and then closed his eyes, bidding sleep to come so that he could escape the painful reality that had come to envelop them both.

At that time, Al had been too young to understand worries about immortality. He hadn't reached the tender age where one questions their own beliefs to truly come to know his or her opinions on the soul.

But even then, laying on his side, imagining Ed's glowing, but never blinking eyes, somewhere deep inside of him, Al wondered…. he worried…..that doing what he had done, that scrambling in those crucial, horrific moments to pull Ed back to him, that he might have very well done something irreversible to Ed's soul, and that in doing so, he might have taken away Ed's ability to go to heaven (and join their mother there).

Al was too young, then, to understand why he felt as guilty as he did, but as he chanced to look at his brother sitting beside him, confined to steel by his own hands, he was torn between being so glad, so immeasurably thankful that Ed was still with him, and at the same time, wondering if he'd made the right decision to do what he had.

The pain in his shoulder reminded him what he'd given up to have Ed back, but he wondered if what Ed had been forced to give up was even more precious and irreplaceable.

* * *

_Once again: the characters have strayed me away from the Chapter I was intending to write. And once again: once all was said and done, I don't regret letting them._

_I suppose it's good getting through an extended flashback rather than having mini-flashbacks all over the place._

_…or at least that's what I am telling myself. ;)_

_I'm sorry to have the chapter end on a dissonant note, but there will be more coming up: fear not! I really wanted to begin to layer in the particular flavor of Al's own guilt since I feel that it is so integral to things in this AU. Also: as always, there is art for this chapter up at my LiveJournal under the username: "**theregaltigress**"_

_I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. :) As always: feedback is very much appreciated! I'm curious how many people are actually reading this story, so even just dropping me a quick emote would be thusly appreciated. ;) _

But oh: there is more to come. :)

_Have a great Thanksgiving, all!_

_-Kymba_


	6. Chapter 6

**FMA Fan-Fiction + Fan Art: "Threads of Time" Chapter 6 + ART**

Premise: FMA Divergent AU where, among other things, it was Ed that ended up bound to a suit of armor by his brother, Alphonse, when their attempt to resurrect their mother recoiled and went horribly wrong. Their lives have been forever changed since that fateful night.

This story picks up three years later: approximately two years after Alphonse Elric became the State-Certified "Full-Metal Alchemist," making the brothers 13 and 14.

Characters: Armor!Ed, Automail!Al, and many more to come!  
Rating: PG  
Pairings: None  
Genre: AU, humor, angst  
Spoilers: None  
Length of this Chapter: 2,193  
"CrazyLostStar" is my Beta-Muse.

Writer: "TheRegalTigress" : **LiveJournal**: theregaltigress

* * *

_This chapter was mostly Within Temptation's "Pale." : This one is so dead-on for Flashback-Armor!Ed in particular. The lyrics, the emo-angst, the... just... wow. Oo_

_By the way: I posted Chapter 5 on Thanksgiving, so some people out there might have missed it. :) So double-check to make sure you're caught up there before you read this Chapter._

_And as always: enjoy the story_

* * *

**"Threads of Time" - Chapter 6**

_Three months later..._

Leaves loudly crunched from beneath a thick blanket of packed snow. It was eerily silent outside, and the great expanse of rolling snow offered little entertainment to even the most well-intentioned observer.

Even the local wildlife seemed uninterested in venturing out on such a chilly afternoon. There were no mice peppering the landscape with burrows, and not even a single crow called greetings to the bleak landscape. It was empty, forgotten.

Ed trudged on, carefully lifting each foot over the pristine snow before placing it firmly into the thick mounds. The fleeting hours "alone" had given his mind even more time to swim around a multitude of worries. At least when he was at home with Al, there was usually something he could distract himself with, be it a game of chess (which he usually lost at), or even reading. He'd never been much for reading for pleasure's sake, but he was finding himself with increasingly more and more time on his hands. It was a welcome distraction and way to pass the time when he tired of long nights of silence.

But here, out in the open, he was again devoid of distractions, and he found himself bothered by the strangest thing. As he tromped heavily through the snow on his way back from the grocers, he realized one of those particular things was that he felt so _naked_. Certainly he was in (or "was," considering how you looked at it) a suit of armor, so he had no logical reason to feel naked. There was no exposed skin, and no flesh at all, in fact. Yet that quiet reality didn't help his troubled mind as he slowly worked his way towards the Rockbell residence.

He had to guide himself by memory once again since the new fallen snow had already covered the tracks he'd made on the way out. Somehow, he'd managed to stray even further off the path this time, which probably accounted for why he could distinctly hear leaves crunching somewhere deep underfoot rather than the firm surface of a familiar dirt path. More frustrating than being off the path (he told himself he wasn't "lost," just "side-tracked") was that he had long-since discovered that his "suit" had little that could be called "traction." So more than once he had slipped and fell, loudly stumbling in ways that should have logically been painful to a living person, but which only amounted to small dents or scratches here and there on the suit of frost-covered armor.

He supposed someone, somewhere, would probably have found it all terribly amusing. A head flying off here, an obnoxiously loud tumble there, but he certainly didn't. Not at all. He was only glad that no one, not even a single squirrel, was around to see him struggle with his plight. He told himself he should have had things under control by this point, but somewhere deeper still, an unseen young boy was still trying to get used to this new state of existence, and the coordination and patience it required.

Ed didn't have much patience though, and as he picked up a tomato that had cleverly escaped from one of three paper bags Ed carried in his hands, he had to restrain himself from simply throwing or kicking it outright. The fruit had fallen in the snow for perhaps a fifth time, and he could certainly see a variety of bruises littering its dark surface.

With a low mutter, he brushed it off and started to place the tomato into the now very wet paper bag. He stopped only momentarily to try and flick the loop of irritatingly displaced hair from his brow. This subtle motion, however, sent a wrapped loaf of bread slipping from his grip yet again, and as he scrabbled to catch the loaf before it hit the snow, he reflexively tightened his other hand, inadvertently crushing the tomato that he had just picked up.

He lowered his head a moment and tried to temper his rising anger. It wouldn't do him any good, he knew that. It was just food. There was no reason to get angry at food. It couldn't even fight back.

He ducked down, trying to retrieve the scattered groceries, and as if fate was set on torturing him even more, he saw, more than felt, his hand slip out from under him. An audible "crack" signaled that he'd managed to catch himself at a painful angle on his wrist while he struggled to recover his balance. Yet here he was, covered in snow, and he couldn't feel a thing. He couldn't feel a bruise forming where he'd just jammed his knee onto a rock. He just felt… nothing. Even the (now remarkably deceased) tomato could bruise, and he couldn't. He was out in the snow in the middle of the winter and if he closed his eyes, he wouldn't have been able to guess it.

….well, that would assume he COULD close his eyes, which he couldn't. No matter what time of day it was, he could still "see," if you could call it that. It wasn't like normal vision, though, and that had really been the first change that had alerted him that something was very wrong on that fateful night. The colors he "saw" weren't quite right. They weren't as vivid as they should have been. He couldn't blink and he couldn't close his "eyes" and shut off the world. When it was dark, he could pretend his eyes were closed, but it wasn't the same thing. He was still aware. Conscious. His head could be removed entirely, and STILL he could "see" forward through his body somehow. It was really unsettling, and as much as he tried to understand it, his knowledge of how binding souls worked was vague at best.

He and Al had read about it in an alchemy book at one point, in one of the worn books that included thickly coded chapters on human transmutation. They'd studied it so carefully, trying to prepare for the their own foray into human transmutation. Truth to be told, much as they'd prepared, they didn't know _how_ it would all happen, how their mother's soul would figure into the transmutation. There was a chance their mother's form would be recreated, and then one of the boys would need to bind her soul to her newly-formed, disease-free body. That's why they'd memorized that array to bind souls, that "seal" that was supposed to have been written in anything other than blood.

He shuddered once and dusted himself off as he hefted the soggy bag of groceries in one arm. He just felt naked. Naked and exposed in the worst sense of the word.

But that didn't compare to what he knew Al was going through.

His little brother was trying so hard to be strong, but watching him suffer was excruciating for Ed. It had been four months. Four very, excruciatingly long months since the automail surgery, and while Al had made notable progress, the troublesome limbs were still more of a burden than a blessing. He could move most of the joints, but they lacked any resemblance of fine control, and in most cases he couldn't hold the positions for very long.

Ed just wondered why this couldn't have all been simpler. He never wanted this to happen, he'd never planned for things to go so terribly wrong. And here he was, standing out in the snow feeling sorry for himself when it was really Al that had gotten the worst end in all this. Because of him.

He just ……just wanted a "_plan"_ so desperately, right then. It was so terribly ironic, too, because the happiest times in their lives had been spent simply being children. Just… playing. "Living," with no grandiose purpose to guide them.

But then when their mother had died, it had been Ed that had put them on this "quest" to get their mother, their "life" back. And in every moment since the day she had died, Ed had pushed them. To research, to plan, to keep their focus when they studied under Izumi. Once they'd returned to Risembool to carefully plan out the final stages of their plan, Ed's plan, he had pushed them even harder. He felt he was so close, so very close to realizing his dream that he had pushed aside Al's concerns, rather than valuing them as he, in hindsight, knew he should have.

But that's where Ed's plan had ended. It was supposed to WORK. That single transmutation was supposed to put things back to the way they were, where he and Al could just be kids again. Where they could laugh and bicker here and there like all siblings did, and where they could perform alchemy for _her_ and make her smile. That really was what he believed would happen.

But it hadn't gone like that. The plan had failed, and horribly so, leaving them blissfully directionless after having something, some frail hope to cling to for so long. But now, there was no clever plan to put things back the way they were.

Ed's mind couldn't look far into the future. He didn't pay heed to things like a career, or falling in love and raising a family. All he really wanted to do was to get Al's limbs back. And he wasn't sure _how_.

Al's questions about what Ed had seen during the time of the transmutation had left him uneasy. He wanted to know more, but as of yet, he hadn't pushed Al for more answers, and Al hadn't volunteered any. Considering the way things had gone, he'd been caught entirely off guard when Al had asked about their mother. He knew the question was bound to resurface, but that didn't mean he was any more prepared for it when it did.

As far as Ed had been concerned, the entire thing had been a failure in the worst sense of the word, and he had put himself at ease by telling himself that the organic … "monstrosity" that they'd alchemized was totally unrelated to their mother. But now... Ed wondered. That seed of doubt horrified him, because try as he might to wrap his mind around the possible, horrible consequences of his actions, he hadn't stopped to think about what their mother would have wanted in all this. He'd just… "assumed" she would want to come back. Isn't that what any mother would have wanted? To watch their children grow up?

But now, by Ed's own hands he'd made everything so much worse. If their mother could see him now, what would she say? How could he ever be forgiven for what he'd done? Hadn't she told them to take care of each other? Wasn't that the one thing she'd requested? And what had Ed done? Gone off on his own to decide what was really, _actually_ best for them was this fairytale-like little plan of his that had torn things apart even MORE.

_But what would_ "she" _have wanted_? _Not what _"I" _wanted. Her._

He felt his inner commentary grow silent as the landscape around him.

He knew what she would have wanted for them, and it wasn't this. Not at all.

The frosted suit of armor sighed helplessly and looked out over the frigid landscape. He didn't really know who to turn to for guidance, so instead he just continued to stand there in the snow as he watched the first telltale flakes that announced the snow's return.

He wanted to make things right. He NEEDED to focus on that. To _never_ forget. If that's the only thing he accomplished in his life, he could die happy. Al deserved the chance to live a normal life. Ed's own unforgivable sins had put him put him beyond that possibility, but there was still hope for Al.

Ed wanted to make sure he remembered that. He absentmindedly started to brush a frosted glove off on a pant leg that wasn't there, only to be greeted with the sound of leather brushing against metal. Somewhat startled by the unexpected noise, he looked down at the offending hand and the remnants of tomato that slicked its surface, and for a moment he simply watched the red juice trickle down his elbow and fall onto the virgin snow. In that instant he came to a decision.

He would ask Granny Pinako to make him another loincloth like the one he'd thrown out, but he'd ask her to make it in red.

Red, like the stains from his brother's blood on his old loincloth. Red, so he'd never forget the sacrifice Al had made to keep Ed with him, even after all the wrongs Ed had brought upon them both.

Red, because as subdued as his "vision" now was, he could still feel the heavy presence of that color, of the memory that color stirred in his mind. And he would never allow himself to forget.

This was _his_ burden. Al was his cause.

It wasn't the same as a _plan_, but he'd take what he could get.

* * *

_This is possibly more of a "scene" than a "chapter," but the next chapter is due to be a bit long (which should make "su-dama" happy ;) ), and I thought it would be good to put this bit out there. :)_

_That's right: instead of an engraved pocket watch to "Never Forget," this "Ed" will have an angsty red loincloth. While I've no idea why the "canon" Ed had a red cloak (and I suspect that is more of a marketing/design tool than a story intricacy), the color aspect remains the same, but I've tried to give it a bit more underlying motivation here._

_Now you know why Armor!Ed has/will have a red loincloth (And why either of the boys knew about this whole "binding souls" business) :)_

_I hope you enjoyed this chapter/the art (which, as always, can be found under LiveJournal User " **theregaltigress**"!_

* * *

_-Kymba_


	7. Chapter 7

**FMA Fan-Fiction + Fan Art: "Threads of Time" Chapter 7 + ART**

Premise: FMA Divergent AU where, among other things, it was Ed that ended up bound to a suit of armor by his brother, Alphonse, when their attempt to resurrect their mother recoiled and went horribly wrong. Their lives have been forever changed since that fateful night.

This story picks up three years later: approximately two years after Alphonse Elric became the State-Certified "Full-Metal Alchemist," making the brothers 13 and 14. (Though the current chapter is in "Flashback" mode)

Characters: Armor!Ed, Automail!Al, and many more to come!  
Rating: PG  
Pairings: None  
Genre: AU, humor, angst  
Spoilers: None  
Length of this Chapter: 9,328  
CrazyLostStar is my Beta-Muse.

_"... Without fail, each brother would come to the other's aid, unbidden. It wasn't a question of whether it was necessary or not: it was simply the right thing to do. And strangely enough, when Al found himself speaking up on Ed's behalf, he began to get an early taste on what it was like to protect someone you care greatly about. That had been a role Ed had assigned himself throughout their entire lives, and now, Al was beginning to share in the burden that that responsibility, that love, brought..."_

* * *

_ART: Available on LiveJournal publically under username "theregaltigress":_

_"The Missing Piece" - This "sketch" was drawn freehand in brown water-soluble pen, and then "tinted" with water, and then fine-tuned in PhotoShop. It is only about three inches wide by two inches high in person._

* * *

_This chapter was mostly E. S. Posthumus's "Nara." These folks have been making film trailers for years and years, and "Nara" is a song off one of their first CD-available albums._

_While this track probably goes with the next chapter more so, it definitely had its own way of inspiring this one._

_As always: enjoy the story_

* * *

**"Threads of Time" - Chapter 7**

While Ed braved the bleak weather outside, life went on in the Rockbell household.

The bitter rains of Fall had changed to the chilling winds of an unforgiving Winter, and from inside the frosted glass panes, Al could faintly make out the foggy horizon which separated the blue-gray sky from the endless outstretch of white snow. Intrinsically, he knew time was passing and seasons were changing. He could tell by the quietly shifting scenery outside his window, by the low hum of the radiator that the heat was on almost constantly now, and by the slowly thickening layers of clothes to which the Rockbell residents were adapting. He could notice all of these things and he could quietly observe each and every passing detail inside the house as well as the subtle shifts occurring outside which he witnessed through his makeshift "looking glass," but it was all still so profoundly "different" than way he was accustomed to time passing. Now, he quietly observed these changes as if he was locked within a glass cage, for he hadn't been outside even once since this had all began.

His young mind still clung to the "usual" ways of observing time pass: of getting to bed at a set time only to get up early to go to school, or in the case of Izumi, for training. He was used to looking forward to lunches, and the simple pleasures of racing his brother and Winry home from school. The changing of seasons was beckoned in with the promise of "vacation" from school, of little seasonal projects to look forward to like pumpkin carving or dressing up in costumes. New seasons would open up new activities, like building snowmen or ice forts, and as the seasons rolled by, the games they'd play would subtly shift, but there was always something to _do_ , something to keep their minds and bodies active.

And now, as irony would have it, after all those years of complaining about having to get up early for school, or belaboring walking in the snow, what Al wouldn't have given just to go _outside_. Here, he finally had what most children spend their nights dreaming about: a vacation from homework, from teachers and little responsibilities and chores, and he was spending it primarily laying in a bed making constellations out of spots on the ceiling while he wondered if he'd ever really walk again.

Al could hear the steady drip of the bathroom faucet (which was only one of many things that he couldn't attend to, since even doing so simple as using the restroom meant that he needed assistance in getting there). But if he listened closely enough, he could hear Granny Pinako and Winry cleaning house after they had seen a visiting automail client off. Al understood that the Rockbells were running, above all things, a business, and therefore that entailed other visitors to the household, but he couldn't help feeling that said visitors were somehow invading on sacred ground where they didn't belong.

Neither of the boys particularly liked having the burly freight man around much: particularly Ed. Ed had busied himself with chores as he could, and had tried to his best to ignore the man's strange looks and coyly prying questions. The older Elric had taken a sudden liking to hiding himself back away in what had become Al's room, and Al hadn't missed his brother's discontent.

While Al had never really considered himself an "innocent," when he was growing up with Ed, it was always Ed who was more prone to exaggeration while Alphonse tended towards honesty. That wasn't so say Ed wasn't honest, he just… had a "knack" with shady wording and the occasional creative white lie (which had gotten him in trouble in more than one occasion).

Al and his brother had kept secrets from adults, certainly, but they were always in the manner of little things. Careless adventures they shouldn't have had, or a bad word one of them had learned from another child.

After their mother had died, however, Al and Ed had both become the young keepers of their secret mission to restore their family. More than once, too, Al had been tempted to confess this plan to Izumi, to beg her for her help because he'd hoped she would understand, and that she'd guide them on their way.

But as time passed, and with Ed's gentle persuasion, Al had managed to swallow his temptation to tell Izumi, and instead he'd kept the secret because that's what brothers do. He trusted Ed, and he wanted their revised dream to come true just as much as Ed did.

Now, however, there was a different sort of secret that surrounding them. It wasn't a secret of simply what they _planned_ to do, and the fear of having their plan discovered and unraveled. No: now they lived with a deeper, more worrisome fear. A fear of not only being discovered and punished for what they had already done, but moreover, that their very dark secret might further prevent them from finding a way to restore their bodies to them.

Children and adults both could "hide" internal things like plans, secrets, and intentions, but it was impossible to "hide" that something had gone very wrong with the Elric brothers to put them in the their current state. And, uncomfortable as the man's gentle questions had been, as innocent as they seemed, they'd made Al nervous. For so long, it had been Ed that had "protected" his little brother, and now, Al found that each of the Elrics were more than willing to speak up in their brother's defense, or to steer conversation away from "how did you lose your limbs?" or "do you ever take off that suit of armor? It's got to be uncomfortable in there." Without fail, each brother would come to the other's aid, unbidden. It wasn't a question of whether it was necessary or not: it was simply the right thing to do. And strangely enough, when Al found himself speaking up on Ed's behalf, he began to get an early taste on what it was like to protect someone you care greatly about. That had been a role Ed had assigned himself throughout their entire lives, and now, Al was beginning to share in the burden that that responsibility, that love, brought.

The automail client, however, had not been easily deterred. He had been around for a little over a month, and without much else to do, the Elric brothers had becomes his personal "mystery" that needed solved. When he couldn't get the information he was seeking from the brothers directly, he had gotten clever. More than once Al had heard him try to question Pinako, and while Al had nervously listened in, gripping onto his quilt with white knuckles, Pinako had avoided his questions and the man had never received the information he was so curious about. In fact: when Pinako caught him interrogating Winry, she'd reprimanded him outright and threatened to not complete the maintenance on his automail hand if he continued to "harass" the children in her own house.

Their secret, their horrible secret, was safe for the moment.

But as the automail client had ventured back into the bitter cold at last, Al found himself worrying. What if wherever he was going, he told others what he had seen? Of the strange brothers living out in Risesmbool, and their curiously unexplained appearance? He didn't know what they were going to do, but he suspected that he and Ed would have to come up with a cleverly fabricated story that was a deal more tame and believable than their present reality.

He was so tired of lying: he felt like he'd spent the last year and a half lying to adults, and even to himself. He didn't want to do more of it, but he couldn't figure out any way around it, and that frustrated him even more.

Al sighed as he sat in bed with a small, wooden puzzle-table crossed over his lap and waited for Ed to get back from the market. Once Al had been able to comfortably sit up in bed, he'd struggled to figure out any activities he could use to occupy his starving mind. Oftentimes he'd talk with Ed, or occasionally Winry. He'd play simple board games or logic puzzles that he and Ed would collaborate on, and Ed would fill out (since Al couldn't manage to hold a pencil properly). They'd started out with some creative ways to pass the time, but after a certain point, they'd run dry on ideas, and instead were forced to busily recycle them.

Even with the unwelcoming weather rolling around outside, it felt odd to be sitting there longing he could simply get up and go to school on such a dreary morning, but Al would have jumped at the opportunity had he the willpower to pull it off.

As his left hand hovered over puzzle pieces he found himself frowning, and he was somewhat glad Ed wasn't there to see it. They wouldn't be able to go back to school, would they? Al had never put that particular reality of their together, but it seemed so obvious to him now. How could they? Well maybe they could after they got Ed's body back: Al was certain they could come up with an excuse for his own automail limbs, but he was rather certain The suit of armor with his brother's voice wouldn't go over terribly well with teachers or their peers, he thought. And besides: what use would school be when there was something so much more pressing to take care of? It wasn't as if the sort of things the brothers needed to know were on any elementary curriculum. Al was sure there were probably worthwhile things to learn there, but it seemed to him that he and Ed were likely already ahead of the curve for the moment as far as things like arithmetic and life's lessons went.

One of the things Al missed was reading. He'd spent so much time researching alongside his brother, just pouring over books and organizing and memorizing details that it seemed surreal have that almost daily part of his existence so suddenly cut out.

He doubted now, however, that the answers they sought would be found in books and manuscripts alone. They'd already been walked through that lesson once, and Al was uncertain if after what they'd been through, if he wanted to do much with alchemy ever again. He certainly had no desire to look at diagrams and heavy wording inside those thick tomes right now.

Yet on some early mornings when Al would chance to catch Ed reading, he had to admit that a fraction of him was jealous simply because he, himself, wanted something to keep his mind occupied, and much as Al tried, he couldn't properly hold a book using his automail hand just yet.

At one point Ed had noticed Al's interested and had offered to read to Al. While Al had tried his best to listen, something deeper in Al bristled and reasoned that this felt, for some reason, as though he was a child that needed to be entertained by a proverbial "bedtime story." Though there were a lot of things that Al wasn't sure about, one thing he was certain of was that he wasn't a child anymore. Not really.

While Ed occasionally indulged his little brother in whatever books he could find (ones that weren't medical texts or the numerous books on assorted mechanical explorations), Al found himself unable to concentrate on the content of his brother's words, and instead found his mind guiltily lingering over the strange echoes that had swallowed his brother's voice.

He hadn't asked Ed to read much after that.

Instead, puzzles had become Al's mindless method of escape. The Rockbells had a sizeable collection of them to explore, whereas Al could only remember he and Ed owning a few here or there (and he distinctly remembered Ed tossing puzzle pieces at him on more than one occasion when his frustration had overwhelmed his tenacity for the straightforward project). Winry wasn't beyond throwing things, herself, but Al wondered why she'd apparently taken such a fancy to puzzles. They weren't very interesting at all. They were only passably interactive, and you couldn't come up with stories about them, or make sound effects for them like you could when you were playing with a toy car.

But puzzles were, as Al was finding out, a rather effective way to pass the time if there was no one else around. Al had never really thought of it that way before. He'd always just seen them as a rather simple game that needed solved. Yet, seeing as Winry didn't have a brother of sister to keep her company, he supposed it made sense she'd have taken to the hobby, particularly after Ed and Al had gone away to study under Izumi. Maybe the intricacies of the pieces, and the meticulous patience the puzzles required (patience even Al doubted _he_ naturally possessed), had made even more sense considering that even at a young age, Winry seemed bent on being an Automail mechanic. There were certainly some parallels Al was beginning to pick up on.

It was only a guess, but now when Al thought back to some of the many times he and Ed were off on their own getting into and out of trouble, he now imagined Winry sitting alone in her room working puzzles because there was nothing better to do. Al hadn't really ever thought about it that way: whether or not he was out playing with Winry, he always had his brother for a constant companion, and they always had eachother. But Al was coming to realize that Winry had no such playmate or confidant.

Al sighed as he eyed the cover of the puzzle box and the happy meadow and puppies that stared back at him. Each of them had ribbon tied around its neck, and while Al knew that the final picture of the puzzle shouldn't really matter since this was simply an activity to pass the time anyway, he did have to wonder why Winry couldn't have more _respectable_ puzzles. Ones with dragons or something. At least something without bows. Pink bows, at that.

Though if it was a kitten, he might have possibly made exception to the "bow" rule.

Al pursed his lips as he observed the outline of the puzzle. It was about a quarter done, with various sections of puppy faces and wet noses already pieced together. His automail arm lay across his lap, while his left hand rummaged through the box of puzzle pieces in search of a certain piece of floppy ear.

It was entirely frustrating to only have one "useful" hand especially when it was Al's non-dominant hand, but he was struggling to make due. After all: it was just a puzzle, and that particular activity was somewhat manageable with just one hand if he could keep from knocking anything out of reach of that hand. It was strange though: even when he specifically put the box on his left side, he would still instinctively try to reach for pieces using his right hand. Even after five months of there not being a hand there to respond, his mind still assumed it was at the ready. Each time his right hand failed to respond, he had to catch himself and try to push back the lump it brought to his throat.

Al turned his attention to the puzzle piece he'd plucked from the open box. He carefully regarded the strange patterns on the piece before comparing it to the puzzle he was currently working on. It certainly didn't seem to belong with the particular puzzle, as he couldn't find a single spot of pure "red" across the entire image of springtime puppies. He thumbed it between his fingers and tried to mentally retrace what puzzles he'd worked on that the piece might belong to, but came up blank. He considered it carefully, and though he knew he was probably making it out to be more important than it actually was, he felt… "sorry," somehow, that he didn't know where the missing piece belonged.

He pursed his lips and then strained to reach over to the nightstand and tenderly lay the "lost" piece there. He struggled for a minute to accomplish the feat and make sure he didn't inadvertently manage to nudge the puzzle box out of reach in the process, since Ed wasn't there this time to calmly put it back in place. After glancing at the piece to make sure it was "safe," Al squirmed back into place and returned to the die-cut task laid out before him. He wondered when Ed was going to be back: he'd been gone for hours now, but his absence allowed Al's mind to travel to other concerns.

As his fingers played over the pieces his mind flickered back to "that" night. He still didn't understand what had happened, but on another level, he had an almost surreal _complete_ comprehension of what was going on, and that confliction still struggled to resolve itself in his mind. He'd seen things, heard things, just… "knew" things that he shouldn't have. Ed had always been the prodigy of the two brothers, which wasn't to say that Al wasn't smart or skilled, because he certainly was, but it seemed that in various arenas Ed just naturally _excelled_ , and alchemy was one of them.

But as Al's eyes moves around the shapes in the room around him, he couldn't help but be reminded of arrays, of equations and a thousand and one associations he would have never made previously before that night. Something had just… "clicked." He'd known alchemy, but now he _understood_ it in a way he never thought possible. He felt as though he could now practice it in like never before. Things seemed profoundly "different," now, as if piles of information had been jammed in his mind with only a faint resemblance of order. He knew things now that he knew he logically shouldn't have, but knew just the same. He'd seen something, there, on the brink of whatever it was that they'd done, and he assumed Ed had seen it too. But his brother had said he didn't remember anything. Did that mean Ed hadn't experienced this new influx of information as well? What did that mean for them?

Predictably, Al's mind began to swim in the knowledge he still struggled to digest. It latched onto the thought of alchemy. Could his brother still practice it? He had a mind, in a manner of speaking, so he _should_ be able to shape the elements, to mold them to his will, but he'd never read of something quite like their particular case before. Al wasn't even sure why his mind kept returning to alchemy, other than because it had been such a core of both their lives for so many years. It was familiar, comfortable territory, but the thought that Ed might be unable to practice it would be crushing to him. When the time was right, he should probably talk to his brother about it.

Before Al's mind could spiral off anymore, there was a knock on his door. He shook his head quickly in a weak attempt to clear it, and then looked up towards the noise before finding his voice, "Yeah?"

At this, the door crept open and in peered Winry, clad in warm pink fleece pajamas that were sprinkled with smiling snowflakes. As was custom by now, she was trying her best to imitate a chipper mood that she no-doubt hoped would balance out the somber way of life that permeated the household and its inhabitants. While Al hardly felt energetic, he was silently appreciative at how reliably Winry was at checking in on him and seeing what she might be able to do to help improve his spirits.

The blond girl shifted the fresh puzzle box she was carrying from one hand to the other while she observed Al and the assortment of puzzle pieces prominently splayed over his puzzle table. "Oh!" she quickly remarked, "You're still working on that puzzle?" The inflection in her voice spoke this as though she was surprised, "I was going to see if you wanted another one to work on so you didn't get bored."

Of _course_ he was still working on his puzzle. He'd only just started it the previous morning! Even if the cover of the puzzle had happy puppies, it didn't make putting together its five hundred pieces any easier.

Al puffed himself up a little as he defending his puzzle-solving prowess, "I already have the outline completed. _And_ the faces are almost done on two of the dogs." Saying "dogs" made it sound so much more mature than admitting he was working on a puzzle featuring playful "puppies." With bows.

Winry took the initiative to walk over and observe Al's progress, and he couldn't help but feel somehow inadequate under her gaze.

"Well, it goes faster if you separate out the colors so you can tell which section they belong to." Winry said this in a manner so plain that Al feared for years he'd missed some clearly labeled instructions contained within each and every puzzle box he'd ever encountered. While Al slunk back into the mattress, Winry took it upon herself to compare the picture on the puzzle box to the pieces he'd already arranged in place. Winry put on hand to her side as she observed more curiously than critically, "And haven't you done this one at least three times before? You'd think you would get faster with it each time…"

Al bit his lip. With seemingly all the knowledge of the universe bouncing around somewhere inside of his head, Al would have thought he could manage puzzles a bit better than he was currently. Perhaps it was an innate skill, or a developmental skill set that … "whatever" it was in that Gate only gave out on special occasions. That didn't seem very fair to him.

"I'm not in any hurry," Al responded with the slightest amount of hurt defiance in his voice, "and besides: it's not as much of an accomplishment after the first time anyway." He thought it was entirely sensible reasoning.

"Still…" Winry said as she looked at the puzzle, before her blue eyes trailed of its edge to the automail arm that was lying lifelessly across his waist. Alphonse didn't miss her shifting gaze, and he attempted to place his other hand atop his automail one in a frantic attempt to avoid another "talk" from Winry. Al knew she wanted only what was best for him, and in Winry's own opinion, that meant that she had a God-given right to make sure that Al was trying to work on the physical therapy "aspect" of his recovery at every possible opportunity.

Mealtime was one such "opportunity," where Al would make a few hard attempts to hold a fork between unresponsive automail fingers before he would give up and strain to maneuver a fork with his only somewhat more coordinated left hand. Winry seemed convinced that the more he worked on it, the faster he would recover and regain use of his limbs. Puzzles were therefore, as she saw it, a perfect opportunity for Al to work on his fine motor skills, but Al was just as content to let his arm lay across his lap where it wouldn't cause him any more pain than absolutely necessary. He could hardly move the fingers, so how she expected him to be able to control them to do something as delicate as pick up a puzzle piece, he didn't know.

Besides: he knew it would slow down his progress on the puzzle if he even tried. Though, he conceded, perhaps if he did, Winry wouldn't have been examining him as incredulously as she was just then.

Al tried to make sure that his flesh hand was covering his automail one as he took a break from his puzzle to regard Winry. He hoped she would see the languid move as something casual, unplanned. Nothing to alert her attention, certainly.

For not the first time in his life, he was simply not that lucky.

"You'd probably be able to put it together faster if you were using _both_ hands," she pointedly added.

"I…" He set his features, "It has nothing to do with that!" How was it she could manage to make him feel so _guilty_ ? That must be an innate skill as well, he reasoned.

"Mhhmm…" she said, easily looking back to the puzzle. She picked out a loose piece and observed it as she thumbed it between her thumb and forefinger. Casually, her eyes bounced between the puzzle box and the actual puzzle, and after a moment more of careful inspection, she easily snapped the piece directly into place.

Al's mouth just dropped open. Before he could say anything else, she'd picked up another piece, traced its outline with one finger, and snapped it precisely in place yet again.

"But… how did you…?" he started, awed.

She just offered him one of her usual smiles, before she shrugged, "Eh? Just practice."

Winry was definitely a creature all unto herself. Around Ed, she used to struggle to keep up with he and his stubborn, often almost prideful personality. Unbidden, she was usually happy to try and bring him down to the level of the "normal" people, and if that didn't work, she was more than capable of challenging Ed directly, be it with words, the "business" end of a wrench, or a watermelon-eating contest (which she won outright, much to the Elric's own dismay).

But she had another side too. She was there to dry Al's tears here and there when he got hurt (and he supposed this was his own failing, since admittedly, he was the more sensitive of the two brothers), and when she worked to cheer him up, she was often so calm with him, so understanding, which was somewhat polar to how she "dealt" with Ed's own emotional outbursts.

Al sighed in resignation as he glanced longingly out the frosty window, "I'm so tired of being cooped up," he confessed aloud to her as he watched her continue to work at the puzzle. He found he had no desire to stop her, though: she had a certain intensity about her when she was transfixed in her work, and it was something he saw no reason to cut into. Whether he finished it or she finished it, he was just as content so long as she didn't badger him about it later. In fact: if she was able to finish it by the time Ed gone home, he might even be suitably impressed.

"Well, the sooner you work on your arm, the sooner we can get you on crutches," Winry's voice remarked as the eyes under her white-blond bangs connected with his own, "I know you aren't fond of the wheelchair."

This elicited a whimper from Al. He truly didn't like the wheelchair, but his recent attempt at crutches had been an utter failure in every sense of the word. The weight of his limbs simply wasn't balanced, and being in a standing position meant the weight of his leg pulled on very much alive muscles, tendons, and nerves that surrounded where the replacement limb was grafted onto his femur. Everything about it felt "off," and so he'd sworn off the crutches until he could at least stomach standing. After making a solemn oath never to touch the crutches again until he'd regained his strength, he had boldly returned to the alluring comfort of his bed.

It wasn't a very glamorous life, but he was learning to make due.

Al sat and watched Winry negotiate the puzzle while his own flesh fingers traced the smooth edges of the welding points of his automail knuckles. He willed the fingers to flex how he wanted them to, but instead he only felt them momentarily tighten and twitch. It was really no wonder he couldn't hold a book, no less a pencil or pen with that hand: he could hardly even form something that resembled a fist, and really, it was the fine motor control he missed most. If he had an itch his left hand couldn't reach, he had to ask for help with it. While he was fine asking for help with large tasks, it seemed so childish to have to ask for help with something so trivial as an itch. Lately, there were only so many times he could ask Ed to help him with that sort of thing before he found himself squirming in all sorts of ways to be rid of the renegade itch himself.

"I just want you to get better," Winry said, keeping her eyes on the puzzle, which was now rapidly moving toward completion. "Granny and I made some modifications on your elbow yesterday. You should try using it."

Before Al could whimper and respond to Winry's polite "suggestion," Al's salvation came in the form of commotion towards the other end of the house, which no doubtedly announced Ed's return. Alphonse's eyes uncharacteristically lit up: he was saved! "Saved" from what was undoubtedly about to be a session of Winry telling him that he should be spending more time trying to rotate and hold his arm this way and that so he might be able to improve his stamina and response time just "so." While Al was more than happy working on this aspect of his recovery, he just couldn't will himself to do it as MUCH as Winry thought he ought to. It was uncomfortable at best, and painful and worst. So he worked on it, of course, but at a different _pace_ than Winry so desired.

That probably explained the terse glare he received from Winry when she saw the victorious smile spread over Al's face. The way the young girl before him set her jaw alerted Al that he would do best to restrain his relieved smile as quickly as possible for fear that not doing so might shorten his own life.

Though Al could hear Ed moving around the groceries he'd returned with while talking with Pinako, he couldn't make out their words. He listened closely, but within only a moment or two, Al could hear Ed's familiar clanking footsteps making their way to his room.

Al wasn't aware of just how much his smile had betrayed that he thought Ed's return would mark a release from Winry's medical inquiries, but much to his own dismay, Winry obviously noticed the look of profound (now restrained) relief that had spread across his face. Her brow noticeably twitched as Al eagerly called out for Ed, "Brother! You're back!" He really did think he was going to be able to get out of this one.

* * *

As Ed walked through the threshold of the doorway, the way his pace slowed and he at once caught his brother's pleading eyes as well as Winry's gaze (which seemed to read "Oh! You're back, and that means you can help me with Al.") Ed seemed to seriously reconsider if he would be better off going back to the kitchen to help Granny prepare lunch. It seemed like a more appealing option, especially with the way Winry's eyes and clenched jaw were regarding him. He could be a seven-foot suit of steel with not a single spot available on him to bruise, and STILL her glares intimidated him. She was also a _girl_ , and somewhere along the way, he'd picked up that that should be yet another reason he shouldn't be intimidated. 

But he was.

Of course, he'd never admit anything like that to her, but there was certainly a challenge in her eyes right then, and Ed's mind scrambled to figure out what he could have possibly done to deserve it, considering he'd been gone the whole morning. He felt like he'd just walked in on a battle of wills that was already well in progress. For the moment, he decided to respond to Al rather than inquire what all _this_ was all about, "Yeah, and I brought back some pastries too."

Alphonse's amber eyes were obviously trying to relay some sort of crucial sibling distress-call to Ed, and while Ed wasn't sure about the intimate details, he was certain Al was undoubtly trying to steer the conversation away from whatever it had been before Ed had entered into the battleground. Ed regarded his little brother and the now wickedly-grinning blond and he found himself torn between the sibling desire to "protect" Al, and that other, deeper, part of Ed that thought self-preservation might not be all that bad of an option.

The sibling bond, however, won out. He would protect Al, even if that meant "protecting" him from Winry.

Ed stood his ground as he reminded himself that he was safe, and that Winry couldn't hurt him in any ways he knew of.

"Ohhh… pastries? What kin--?" Al started, trying to sound impressively more interested than he really was.

"Now that you're back," Winry interjected, "you can help me with Al's physical therapy." While Winry never defined "help" in explicit terms, Ed had come to understand that she used the word to imply her firm belief that Ed should clearly support whatever methods she suggested should be used on his little brother. Deep down, Ed really did believe that she simply wanted the best for Al, but he would be the first to admit that he didn't always agree with her methods, most of which were plainly rather painful.

Winry seemed to lock eyes with Ed, as if willing her determination through to him and Al bit his lip as he looked between the dueling combatants. He was glad she didn't have any tools (or puzzle pieces) in hand.

At this point, Den chose to poke his head through the door. There was utter silence as the dog thoughtfully observed the assembled, and then when he came to the apparent decision that there was nothing new to report, he pleasantly trotted over to sit by Winry at Al's bedside. The quiet tap of his claws and automail limb followed him until he found the optimal position in the room through which he could observe the momentarily silent debate.

Winry unconsciously scratched Den's head while her gaze shifted from the older brother to the younger Elric Alphonse warily watched Winry beside him; he knew what was coming next, and apparently this time, it was an unavoidable fate. For the past months this had become a sort of rigorous custom for them by now: that multiple times a day Winry or Pinako would come in and poke and prod Al whether he was in the mood or not. As Winry strode around to the other side of the bed (closer to his automail arm), Al knew each footstep only solidified his impending doom.

Al cringed reflexively as Winry's voice shattered the silence that had crept into the room, "Try lifting your arm again," her voice was the one she usually used with patients: crisp and direct. She was all business now.

"Winry I---," Al started.

She gave him a significant look and repeated more firmly, as professional as a young girl could manage, "Lift it. I saw you do it earlier."

"I didn't TRY it earlier. I was trying to move my wrist," Al corrected with a frown.

When Al seemed more inclined to debate details than attempt to lift his arm, Winry cast Ed an accusatory look, as if somehow this pronounced stubbornness was all his doing.

The ever-present suit of armor held out his hands in his own defense, and even seemed to recoil for a moment as if he worried Winry might plan on striking him with her hard glare. Instead, however, she huffed once and tapped Al's automail arm. "Look, I know it's not _comfortable_ trying to move it, but the only way you're going to get more control of it is to practice."

"I do practice!" Al said with a half-pout, "It's just really sore from yesterday."

Winry, however, had already decided that she was done with asking nicely, and instead she forcibly gripped automail Al's arm and lifted it so it was sticking straight out from his body, "Fine then! Now hold that there."

She had such an accomplished grin spread across her face as Al cringed and through clenched teeth gritted out, "OW! You didn't have to do that! Arugh! Did you really have to pull it out like _that_ ?!"

"Hold it there," she repeated, "You have to build strength."

"I think he's had enough for today," Ed spoke up, "he was working on that sort of stuff before I went to the market this morning. I helped him." Protocol went that big brothers were supposed to speak up for their little brothers when their little brothers were in distress.

As if caught in slow motion, Winry's head turned to Ed, "You… "helped" him?" she said incredulously.

Ed was tempted to take a step back, but he held his ground, "Yeah. We worked on some exercises before breakfast." While he could no longer "feel" in the traditional sense, Ed was certain that he could somehow "sense" the strange tension that had been growing between he and Winry slowly coil itself inside the room.

Winry's eyes were still locked on Ed as she repeated her words with more emphasis and increasing intensity, " _**Helped **_him?"

Al didn't like where this was going, but he was afraid if he moved his arm, it would only make things worse. He strained to keep is held aloft to his side as he spoke up on his brother's behalf, "He did, Winry, we—."

A wave of Winry's hand cut Al short, but her fiery eyes were still locked on Ed's, "You _'helped'_ him," she repeated, "and by _help _you mean you get him to practice when he's in the mood, or until it gets _uncomfortable_ and then you tell him it's fine to stop. You should be pushing him _harder_, so he can get better, not just letting him take the easy route!"

Ed really didn't have any response ready for this variety of verbal assault. Winry was clearly crossing lines here, "Are you trying to imply that I'm a bad brother, or I don't want the best for Al?" he challenged.

Al had a strange feeling that no one in the room remembered he was even there…

"Maybe!" Winry hotly declared.

…but perhaps that was a "good" thing that they'd momentarily forgotten about him, Al reasoned.

Ed forcibly crossed his arms in defiance as the antenna-like flock of hair twitched along his brow, "I can't _believe _you'd say that! You don't know anything!"

"Guys…" Al tried to interject.

"I don't know anything, huh? Then why is it your only brother is complaining more and recovering slower than Den ever did when he had to go through the very same surgery? Huh? Explain that one to me! I'm _all_ ears, Ed!"

"….Did she just compare me to the dog?" Al said in confusion as he glanced to Den, at which point Den simply cast him an apologetic look and decided it was an optimal time to yawn and rest his head over top of the bed.

"That's completely different!" Ed declared. He wasn't precisely sure how it _was_ different, but he was certain it was. As Al's older brother, it was his responsibility to look out for Al's best interests, and sometimes that meant pushing him, as he'd done when he'd pushed his little brother (_too hard, in hindsight_) to research alchemy for their "experiment," and other times, like now, it meant backing off and letting Al think and act for himself. Al was making progress, things were going just fine.

But as Winry glared back at Ed, he was wondering how on Earth she could make him feel so _guilty._ He already carried with him the guilt for what he'd done to Al to get him to this condition, how was it that it was now Ed's "fault" that Al wasn't improving as quickly as Winry apparently through he should be? He'd already seen his little brother in more than enough pain for one lifetime, thanks. Ed didn't feel he should be forced into promoting any more of that than could be avoided.

The dark look Winry cast him clearly spoke to the contrary. She was trying to be so professional, but something was lurking under the surface of her young face, and for a moment Ed got a frighteningly good look at it. Her face faltered as she set her jaw and turned back to Al, who was still obediently struggling to keep his arm held aloft, "you know what? Why am I even **trying** to help you? You obviously don't want to get better because half the time you're just arguing with me anyway. Do you think I **like** seeing you like this? Do you really think that I _enjoy _seeing you in pain? That this is no big deal for me?"

Al could see Winry's eyes starting to well up in tears, as he quickly stepped in and tried to reason with her, "Winry… it's not that. I mean, I want to get better, and we know you're only trying to help--."

For not the first time Winry cut him off. Her young voice cracked as it pled with Al, "Then let me help! There's really nothing else I can do! I'm good at automail, Granny told me so! I've helped her with lots and lots of patients so I know what I'm doing!" The voice she'd struggled so hard to remain convincingly professional was faltering. Her age, her hurt was seeping through. She looked up at Ed, and then back to Al, "You both disappeared for a year, a whole year, and I haven't asked once about that. Not once! I didn't ask what happened! I don't even think I _want_ to know. I'm just trying to help you both make the best of things, but you're fighting me the whole way!" She laughed then, a painfully sad, almost bitter laugh that seemed far too old for her years, as she continued to fight back tears, "Some way to treat a friend, huh? Just ignore Winry when you're not in the mood?"

Ed's frustration faded out of him as he stood, just watching her. He wasn't sure what to say or how to respond, but his brother (with his right arm still painfully outstretched) was trying to reason with their childhood friend, "Winry, c'mon, we DO appreciate it, you know that," Al was trying his best to be the voice of reason, "it's just…." Al got quiet and cast a fleeting glance to Ed before lowering his eyes, "…this is all just really complicated."

Winry crossed her arms as if she was waiting for something more, but Ed wasn't volunteering either. "No, you're **both** making it a lot more complicated than this needs to be. You're already through the worst of it, now you just need to keep at it."

Al frowned then, and had Ed a face that displayed the emotions that suffocated themselves around him, he would have been frowning as well, for both the brothers knew they were unlikely to be past the "worst" of things, not while the other brother needed their rightful body returned to them.

Winry could read Al's expression of discontent as clear as anything, though she didn't understand why it resided there. As far as she was concerned, Al really _was_ past the worst of things as far as the automail surgery went. With each passing day he'd hopefully get closer and closer to regaining complete control of his limbs, and hopefully in time, he could go on to live a normal life. She'd do everything in her power to make sure that happened, even if it meant fighting both of the stubborn Elric brothers uphill both ways.

She could see the uncertainty in Al's eyes, but she couldn't understand it. He voice was quieter as she inquired, "What is it?"

Ed turned away from them both, then, and there was another frozen silence that enveloped the room as Al found himself lying to one of the people he cared most about.

"Nothing," Al softly responded, feeling sicker for his words.

The Elrics were an enigma more complex than any puzzle Winry would ever encounter, and though she looked into Al's face and met his eyes with a soft, affirmative nod, she didn't believe him.

The sadness that crept into her expression was something she was unable to hide. Though up until that point he'd never lied to her, somehow she knew better this time.

* * *

The rest of the next hour was spent in an impromptu therapy session. The room remained almost silent for the length of it except for Winry's pointed instructions and a whimper or two here and there from Al. Winry's unexpected speech had taken away the brothers' fight, and for once, Al he resigned himself to his fate and did each and every action that Winry asked without complaint (even if that meant holding his breath through the pain). He did his best to move joints that seemed only half-willing to respond, and he'd hold fingers in various positions as Winry helped to move them and made the occasional adjustment. Taking full advantage of his temporarily agreeability, Winry also bid him to do some exercises with his automail leg. While the physiotherapy wasn't something Al enjoyed in the least, at least the attention on his leg gave his now screaming shoulder a momentary reprieve. 

Al's elation over the momentary change in pace was short-lived, however, because Winry soon concluded that Al should try putting weight on the leg again, rather than simply working with it from a sitting position in bed. Her slender hands moved the puzzle-table from the bed and then expertly helped to rotate Al so that his legs would dangle from the side of the bed. It was painfully obvious that Al was failing at willing his arm to assist properly, no less support his quest to turn himself, but Winry wordlessly propped it up and properly aligning it so that it acted as more than simply dead weight.

The moment his automail leg hit open air, however, Al caught himself in a small cry and forcibly closed his eyes. The pull of the heavy limb against raw bone and muscle was incredibly painful, and even without putting weight on it, he was rapidly wishing he could turn tail and lie back down. Intuitively, he knew it was too late for that.

As his body tensed, however, he noticed that the automail elbow Winry had positioned to help support him had started to slip out from under him. But before gravity had his way with the younger Elric, he felt a hand at his back. Through one open eye, he could see Ed had "caught" him, and was working to guide the arm back into position again as Winry attended to his leg.

"Don't worry: I got you," Ed's quiet, echoing voice said from somewhere far above him.

Al nodded, and in far too short a time, Ed was helping to support Al's weight as he ever so gently lowered his brother's feet to the floor.

"You two should do this every few hours," Winry instructed, her face betraying her compassion for Al's plight. "I know it doesn't feel good at all, but you have to get used to putting weight on it. The fine detail on the toes we can work on as we go, but it will take you awhile to relearn how to 'walk' again, and you have to start somewhere." Her words were calm and not as condescending as they sometimes were: it seemed the "fight" had gone out of her as well.

As Winry worked, Al found that her words from earlier still nagged at him. Al's quiet lie swirled around him, teasing him with its self-assured harmlessness. Al sometimes tried to believe that the worst was over, that life for them was due to be easier, and that it was all downhill from there, but he wasn't entirely convinced of that. Not while Ed didn't have his body. Not while there was so much they didn't know. He didn't have to try very hard to momentarily push the worries from his mind when he felt Winry push down on his left shoulder just slightly to make sure Al was actually attempting to put weight on his "bad" leg, rather than perhaps trying to stand on his tip-toes to avoid it like he sometimes did.

Winry's negotiations were met with a soft whine from Al and a sympathetic toe lick from Den. The unexpected sensation of wet dog tongue on exposed pinky toe made Al squeal momentarily while he at once found himself fighting to maintain his balance while struggling to helplessly shoo the troublemaker away (which was rather more difficult than it sounded, considering he had only two useful limbs, and one of those was supporting the majority of his weight).

Ed suppressed a light, reverberant chuckle as he intervened and came to Al's "rescue," "I'm sure Al appreciates your help, Den, but I think that toe is good for now." The suit of armor so many feet taller than either of the children was trying his best to help support the young boy to his side.

The canine in question looked up at the suit of armor and tilted his head. Den regarded the suit, then Winry, Al, and the suit again. He seemed to deliberate a moment before he went to fastidiously licking one of the spikes on Ed's foot. At this point even Winry had to cover her mouth to suppress a small giggle while the three of them watched Den's tail happy dancing to and fro to the beat of each loving lick he gave Ed's foot.

* * *

As Winry's work came to a close, Pinako called for Ed from the kitchen. Ed and Winry two of them helped Al back into bed before the suit of armor cast the room one final, longing look. 

"Don't worry, I'm done with him, for now," Winry said to Ed with a small smirk that crept over one side of her face.

Ed gauged her features a moment before turning to his bed-ridden sibling, "I'll be back in a little while, okay?" he assured him, as if he was well aware that he was leaving his only little brother to fend for himself against some uncertain adversary.

Al nodded, "Okay."

Once Ed had disappeared down the hallway with Den happily trotting at his heels, Winry looked back to Al and went to fetch the puzzle-table back for him. She endeavored to place it back just where it was before, and once satisfied, she brushed off her hands. "Well that's that. I'll come and get you with Ed once lunch is ready."

Al nodded an affirmative, but as Winry turned to go, he found himself gazing back at the countenances of the three blissfully happy puppies staring back at him from the cover of the puzzle box. While he still wasn't much for those silly bows, he found himself staring into the simple canine expressions and found himself helplessly reminded of not Den, and his apparent tolerance against automail surgery that surpassed Al's own meager prowess, but instead, the joyful playfulness in those eyes reminded Al of his brother, Winry, and himself. The puppy that was toppling over the flower pot could just have easily been Ed causing trouble like he usually did, and the puppy with the blue eyes that was going after that one's tail was not altogether unlike Winry and the way she sometimes harped on and harassed Ed.

And the puppy with the one floppy brown ear eagerly bounding alongside them? He couldn't deny that somehow, he was certain he'd seen himself trotting along with those two on more than one young adventure. That was just the way things were.

Al caught himself looking over the cover of the puzzle box and wondering when exactly it was that things had gotten so complicated. He could remember when things were so much _simpler_ amongst them. When that they would spend lazy hours hanging off of trees and would think nothing more of the afternoon other than what shapes the clouds seemed to be and what they were going to have for dinner. The future didn't hold any surprises then, it just was. Childhood seemed like a timeless dream.

But the dream had come and gone, and now Al sat regarding the carefree innocence of the puzzle. He pulled his eyes up from it to see that Winry had already made it all the way to the door and was just stepping into the hallway when he spoke up, "Hey, Winry?" His voice ventured, as if he was somehow worried about intruding, "Do you want to work on this puzzle a little?"

While her back was still to him, she paused in the doorway and seemed to deliberate. She then slowly turned her uncertain eyes to search his face, as if to make sure she'd heard him correctly. Al only gazed back at her, "You're really good at them," he added as he took one hand and lightly tousled the box of loose puzzle pieces, as if trying to tempt her back.

Finally, the serious "adult" expression that seemed to so often dominate Winry's young face faded and was replaced by a remarkably childlike smile. "I'd like that," she said simply as she walked back to Al's beside and eagerly flexed her fingers as she surveyed the puzzle anew.

Al wasn't sure when the last time it was that he'd seen her smile so brightly, but as Winry properly situated herself beside him and got back to business, he was certain he saw a tentative smile slip quietly across her face, and then it contagiously moved to his as well.

* * *

The two worked together efficiently for at least ten or fifteen minutes until Winry looked up at Al and helpfully remarked, "You know, your hair is starting to get all wild. You could probably use a hair cut." She nodded to herself once as she snapped together a set of pieces. 

Al tilted his head in confusion at the seeming spontaneous change in subject, as he laid down a puzzle piece (one which he had unsuccessfully tried to snap in place at least six or seven times) and ran his hand through his dark-blond hair.

He made a face as his fingers gauged the strands, "I think it's just fine," he concluded somewhat uncertainly.

"But it could use a trim," Winry corrected as she observed the head of hair in question once more, and then shrugged and went back to the lure of the puzzle laid out before her.

Alphonse Elric might not have been able to use his right arm and left leg properly just yet, but he was _certain_ he wasn't about to let a _girl _tell him how he should cut or style his hair. She might be good with automail, and perhaps a prodigy at puzzles, but that didn't mean he should be concerned with her thoughts concerning his _hair_ .

There were just some points of masculinity that simply weren't up for debate, and he concluded in that moment that that was one of them.

* * *

_I also pulled a "Spielberg" and gave out an "aww" ending to this chapter as well as the "humor" ending so… I hope you liked them:D The spot earlier where Den commiserated with Al made me giggle as I was writing it. smirks Humor, at last!_

_In all honesty: this chapter was not supposed, to end here, but instead it continued on and…. Ended up at around 35+ pages single-spaced in Word. As such, I decided to separate both "parts" into two separate chapters. ;) The plus side is that it means Chapter 8 is already 70 "done!"_

_And special thanks to "GrassAngel" for her additional input/thoughts on physiotherapy, which gave me food for thought in planning out Al's recovery._

_As always: I hope you enjoyed this chapter/the art! Feedback is always eagerly welcomed! _

* * *

_-Kymba_


	8. Chapter 8

**_FMA Fan-Fiction + Fan Art: "Threads of Time" Chapter 8 + ART_**

Premise: FMA Divergent AU where, among other things, it was Ed that ended up bound to a suit of armor by his brother, Alphonse, when their attempt to resurrect their mother recoiled and went horribly wrong. Their lives have been forever changed since that fateful night.

This story picks up three years later: approximately two years after Alphonse Elric became the State-Certified "Full-Metal Alchemist," making the brothers 13 and 14 (Though the current chapter is in "Flashback" mode).

* * *

Characters: Armor!Ed, Automail!Al, and many more to come! 

Rating: PG

Pairings: None

Genre: AU, humor, angst

Spoilers: None

Length of this Chapter: 5,217

CrazyLostStar is my Beta-Muse.

* * *

_ART: Available on LiveJournal publicly under username "theregaltigress":_

_Full Image (Available on LiveJournal): "Shadows of the Past" – Another digital piece. I had a few concepts in mind for this chapter that I might end up doing later for kicks, but this one came to the forefront of my mind and wouldn't be shooed away. :) I didn't have time to fully "flesh" it out, but… it gets the point across, I hope. I don't think I could withstand the wait to post this any longer, even if it meant refining this idea._

_Close-Up (Available on LiveJournal): Yes, ToT!Ed's antenna is fighting the elements as well. ;)_

* * *

_This chapter was written mostly to " S. Posthumus's "Nara." These folks have been making film trailers for years and years, and "Nara" is a song off one of their first CD-available albums. Also listened to were Conjure One's "Pilgrimage" and "Apparition," and from the Narnia Soundtrack, "Evacuating London."_

_As always: enjoy the story!_

* * *

**"Threads of Time" - Chapter 8**

Few days had passed since Alphonse's renewed foray into puzzles, and those days continued to slowly crawl forward as if the oppressive winter forcibly stifled their very progression. Somber gray waves of thick clouds continued to roll in and out of the mourning hills of Risembool; their darkened, crested waves seemed to lap at the world's end. When it seemed that the night could go on for no longer without risking being swallowed whole, the first barest traces of morning sunlight slipped quietly through the half-darkness and perpetual haze and alighted the frosted figure of Edward Elric.

Quietly, he'd closed the porch door behind him. Then he'd waited in the silence of the winter morning, waiting for any sign at all that anyone within the household had awoken early or otherwise noticed his wordless, secretive departure into the snowy landscape. He was certain he could come up with some sort of cover-up story if anyone had, but he hoped that the household would remain asleep long enough that he could leave and be back before anyone noticed he was gone. Den had seen him go, certainly, but the big dog was easy to hush with a proper treat and head-rub. Ed still wasn't sure how Den recognized him, but he was fairly certain that somehow the dog did, making Ed's escape even easier.

Once he was sure the coast was clear, he turned his head away from the door and looked out into the waking morning. For a moment he just stood there on the porch, regarding the bleak landscape that was patched with gray and white and would have seemed entirely devoid of color if not for the faint traces of orange sunlight struggling to ribbon its way over the darkened horizon. After another moment's pause while he gathered his thoughts, he carefully maneuvered the icy steps before him. He clutched the rail in an attempt to be extra cautious, knowing that one misplaced step would send him loudly tumbling. Whether he tumbled backwards or forwards it wouldn't matter, because all of the ruckus it was destined to cause would destroy any chance of a "stealthy" escape. His final steps placed him down to the path that he'd traveled so many times.

One heavy foot followed after the next as he carved his way through the calf-high snow, which was thankfully wetter than when last he'd been out. Fresh snow must have fallen over night, covering the menacing powdery "fluff" which offered not only no traction, but nothing to brace the strange weight of his body against.

He didn't stop to reminisce. He moved forward with a purpose, leaving short trenches of snow in his wake.

Yet as he did this, he remembered the path as it used to be.

The path he remembered lay hidden underneath about a foot of snow and ice. The section he was traversing now was a rough combination of dirt and gravel, changing to gravel the further out he got from the Rockbell household. Long grass grew on either side during the summer months, and the trees that stretched out on either side of certain sections would form a bright green canopy of welcomed shade when it grew too hot out. The larger oaks also made for good climbing, and good hiding spots if someone were to huddle in one to throw water balloons at the unsuspecting below (Winry seemed to have taken the brunt of this treatment, but she always got the Elrics back, and her own brand of "revenge" was something to be wary of).

During the fall, the leaves would float down onto his path, creating a multicolored walkway of autumn hues before the winter months made skeletons of the large oaks and birches. While Ed found he remembered the concealed path by heart, he wasn't certain if in his entire life if he had traveled this particular passage alone. Al seemed to always be by his side, laughing as they chattered and raced each other as boys were ought to do. In most of his memories, in fact, Winry was along with them traveling either one direction or another. They'd ridden bikes, raced on foot, or horse played almost the whole way back and forth. But now, alone in the hazy morning, the path and its reaching, skeletal trees seemed forsaken as they reached forever into the distance to a place which continued to haunt his memories.

He hadn't gone back since that night. He knew Pinako had, but only once or twice that he knew of, and she hadn't said anything of it. As Ed slowly drew closer to his old house, he felt like he was being haunted once again. The last time he'd been this way, this far, he had been fumbling in the dark with his bleeding brother lying unconscious in his arms. The deafening, heavy rain had been ringing so loudly and angrily over his new body, and he had really half-expected that when he reached Pinako's that he might have only been delivering a cooling body onto their doorstep.

While intrinsically he know his brother was now okay, Ed shivered reflexively at the frighteningly vivid memory and its implications as he continued towards his destination. The memory that haunted his every waking moment, and replayed itself unbidden.

Now, he felt like he was returning to the scene of his most grievous sin. A place he would much rather have continued to avoid until he was ready to face what had gone wrong there and reconcile it with his once childlike ideals and fond memories of the house, their very family, as it used to be.

But today was not that day. Ed pushed on only because of a singular purpose, and he tried all the while not to imagine the trail of his brother's blood that no doubt once dappled the very path he retraced in his mind.

It had been over four months since that night. The ghost he worried about should have long dissipated, but still… somewhere in his mind he imagined the "thing" they had created in the basement with their mother's twisted, screaming face… still there… waiting… blaming him for what they'd done… waiting…

But he wouldn't look in the basement. He swore to himself he wouldn't. All he was going to do was to go inside, and go upstairs and retrieve Al's winter clothes from their room. That was all. He would be quick and efficient; he would be in and out of there so swiftly that no one would even realize he was missing.

Especially not the apparition that might lurk in the shadows of his mind. Waiting for him.

But as he approached the house, with it's darkened windows and snow-filled, uncleared path, he felt his steps slow, and the courage he swore he possessed slowly filtered away. For a moment, despite his hulking appearance, all he remained was a scared little boy, looking up at his old, haunted house. It wasn't simply a scary story manufactured from childhood gossip or a campfire tale with its roots in shady legend. This was real. Too real.

The house before him once stood as so many things to him. It was a place of fun and discovery; a place where he'd grown up with his family and whose little painted shutters had once been "home." Even after their father had left, it was still "home," but it didn't feel like that now. It was as if his ideal had begun to be overrun the moment their mother had drawn ill, and from then on, the darkness had crept in, until it had overtaken the house entirely.

But the final stroke had been by his own hand.

He was doubtful he believed in ghosts. He'd never seen one, and all the science he knew and the alchemic laws he fastidiously clung to told him that ghosts were nothing more than folk tales and town gossip. They were no more real than mythical dragons or the tooth fairy. Edward could work to convince himself once and over again that his fears were unfounded, but the memories of the house and all it represented, deeply haunted him in ways that escaped his usual brand of logical reasoning.

This is where it all had happened.

After staring at the dark countenance of the house he moved forward towards the front steps and up to the forest green door. The paint seemed faded from the color he remembered it from only four months previous, but he told himself it was only the dim light playing tricks on him, and not the more noticeable change to his vision, which he generally preferred to overlook.

As a force of habit, he almost knocked. He stopped when he saw his oversized leathered gauntlet hovering inches from the door. The perspective was all wrong. He should have been looking _–up-_ (slightly) at the knocker, not down on it, he thought. The doorway should have been cleared of snow, with two red and blue shovels stacked by the doorway where he and Al had made short work of the offending precipitation. There should have been steam from his breath fogging up the metal doorknocker. At the very least, a puff of mist hanging in the air from their heavy breathing following their usual race to the door to get their boots and coats off as quickly as possible so that they could be greeted by one of their mother's overflowing mugs of hot cocoa with marshmallows and cinnamon.

And, logically, Ed knew none of the images that haunted him were real, but it didn't stop his mind from clinging to them so desperately.

His hand hovered over the doorknocker, and with a quiet creak, his cold-stiffened fingers flexed and wrapped around the weathered surface of the doorknob. Ed mentally drew out a deep breath before he started to turn it, and promptly found it locked in place.

He frowned inwardly as he tried a second and third time to force the lock. His oversized hand tightened and the raw, cold-hardened leather creaked under the new tension. Ed's impatience toyed at him, wearing his lackluster patience thin until he decided that for the doorknob's sake it was best to step back a moment and think.

He could break off the doorknob (assuming he didn't do so by accident), or possibly even break the door off his hinges. Either course of action seemed a bit brash, and a unsettling sort of "attack" against his homestead, but he wasn't sure how else he could get in. Even if he could pry a window open, he doubted he would fit (and if he got stuck, he wasn't sure how he could manage to get unstuck without the situation becoming more ridiculous than it already was. The spikes cresting his shoulders, for one, had already caused some amount of damage to property within the Rockbell household, and he didn't want to add to the ungainly toll any more than he already had. Especially if it included the possibility of getting stuck in a window). Ed stared down the door. He certainly hadn't taken time to lock it when he'd last been there, and he wasn't about to rush back to the Rockbell residence and try to come up with a clever plan to both locate and covertly "borrow" whatever key Pinako must have.

As the older Eric worked to plot out a clever plan to overcome the locked door before him, he glared down in frustration, only half-noticing the welcome mat at his feet.

A mat, which some grueling minutes later he remembered concealed a key just in case either of the brothers got locked out (or as per custom: tried to jokingly lock the other brother out, or in Ed's case, sometimes misplaced his key).

Thick leather fingers fumbled under the mat and Ed was greeted with the welcome sight of a frosted, but otherwise intact metal key. The gloves of his ungainly leather fingers, however, were not only slicker due to the weather, but also stiffer, and encrusted with a heavy coating of snow from the journey (and the occasional fall) which led him to this particular doorstep. Brushing his hands off against his frosted metal sides proved a pointless endeavor, and it took him three intense attempts before he was even able to pick up the key, and another five attempts before he was able to carefully maneuver the small key between his hardened, oversized fingers and squarely place the key in the keyhole and turn it so that he might be greeted with it's familiar "click."

Ed slowly pushed the door open, and it replied with a long, mournful creak. He willed it to silence so he might listen to make sure nothing else stirred inside the house: especially anything or anyone that would recognize the intruder for who he was.

Only a strained silence greeted him, and satisfied for the moment and purely out of habit, Ed gently shook the excess snow from his feet. For a moment, he even started to lean down to remove his boots before he…. remembered.

With an inward frown, he stepped through the darkened threshold.

The candles he'd last remembered seeing alive within the household had long-since fallen silent and what electricity there once was, was clearly no longer functioning, though he tried a switch just to make sure. Long shadows from snow-filled, darkened and drawn windows played around every corner. They hid in waiting from an outside wind that whispered hushed secrets through the household.

Ed couldn't smell anything, but his mind told him that the house must smell stale. There was a cobweb here and there, not from the four months since, but from the year and a half of partial neglect since their mother had been alive. No lights were on, and yet, Ed's vision afforded him a dull awareness of what was around him. The fact that he couldn't feel anything, but that he had a dull perception of what was going on around him made him wonder if this was what it felt like to _be _a ghost.

Nothing seemed to have changed. Chairs were out just as they had been left, and here and there Ed could even see faint remnants of the train of his brother's blood, and the furniture he had haphazardly pushed out of the way as he frantically fled the house that night. But mostly, the whole house seemed eerily still, as if it was lost in another time and place.

Carefully Ed closed the door behind him, mindful to keep it from slamming from the outside wind, which disharmoniously howled its disagreements. The house whined and creaked against the wind's renewed assault.

After another moment in the half-darkness, Ed spoke aloud, as if addressing an unseen entity or perhaps the house itself, "Hello?" It wasn't as if he expected an answer back, but it felt appropriate that he give anyone else that might have heard him enter the potential opportunity to speak up.

Not receiving a response, Ed ventured deeper in. To one side, chairs still supported blankets that had been fashioned into a makeshift fort to hide the Elric brothers' late-night preparations. Assorted books on alchemy lay open around stubby candles and lists of paperwork and painstakingly drawn diagrams and notes.

There were lists and measurements. Pencils and paper. A detailed framework and empty containers of various elements: everything necessary to make childlike dreams a reality.

Ed had gotten them excited. By the time that fateful night had drawn around them, the two boys had been more eager with anticipation than any Christmas Eve before then. This was to be the day everything that had come undone would be put right.

That was what Ed had convinced them.

He flexed his hands, listening to the sound the slowly warming leather made as it echoed through the empty house.

His eyes glanced to the door leading to the basement. To the final staging grounds that had become his undoing. To the place where memories he knew he should have of that night were locked away, and his body with it.

He simply stared, and forced himself to turn away before he did something else he might regret.

Willing himself onward, Ed made his way up stairs. Stairs he used to dash up, which now posed a challenge that required careful navigation with the strange new shape and dimension of his feet. The stairs creaked with each loud step, and Ed cringed inwardly, as if he worried they would somehow give him away.

But up he went, down the hallway to the brothers' bedroom.

Ed tried not to notice that the beds were still half-made, and instead he focused his attention on promptly opening the closet, where he quickly busied himself sorting through clothes. Clean clothes, dirty clothes. That's what he was there for. Not for reminiscing. Especially not for reminiscing.

He tried not to linger on the shirts he knew were his, yet were rightly many, many sizes too small now, and he lingered even less on sweaters that had been given to them on their last Christmas with their mother, which now supported a variety of moth holes. It was as if their childhood was being chewed from the inside out.

He tried to focus, to work quickly because by now he wasn't sure how long he had been gone, and he wanted to make sure he was back before anyone noticed. As he finished his harried sorting, however, he realized that he had entirely forgotten about a key part of his plan: how he would get everything to the Rockbell's in secret, so as to not arouse suspicion. But this wasn't an operation that only required the small pouch strapped to his leg, which concealed money when he went to the market. No: this was something that required a lot more room. Yet he had been so concerned about when he could smoothly sneak out that he hadn't thought that far ahead (he cursed that this seemed to be a renewed trend with him).

He kneeled in front of one of their wooden dressers, trying to think. Trying to avoid noticing the dust-covered toys and books laying about the room which spoke to a childhood he only half-remembered, and one which seemed like so very long ago. He pressed himself harder to think. To hurry, so he could get home and put this place and its ghosts away from the forefront of his mind.

He could hear the wind wailing outside, and the slow whine of his metal shell as it progressively warmed simply from being away from the assaulting winter weather and precipitation. The hollow whine made him look to his torso for some reason, and to the leather buckles that concealed his lack of an interior.

He knew there was nothing inside. He'd checked in private only days after it had all happened, and only a few times since when he'd needed something to reaffirm that it was all real. That he wasn't in there.

He rubbed his adult-sized fingers together in apprehension and slowly placed his hand over where his heart should be. As before, there was nothing.

Willing forth his resolve for Al's sake, carefully Ed pinched the clasp on one side of his breastplate and worked a side open. Large fingers swung open the chest piece, revealing a piece of dark fabric that hung inside the gaping cavity (probably for comfort's sake to the supposed wearer, Ed could only assume), and behind that: nothing but empty space.

Empty, useable space.

The glowing white orbs he had in place of eyes regarded the possibility before him with increasing apprehension. Ed often tried his best so often to pretend that he'd just… grown some (not that he was _"short"_ before, of course), that he was perhaps even simply inside the suit looking out, but opening the front plate and seeing nothing…it rapidly extinguished that hopeful fantasy he pushed out of mind day after day.

But this was for Al. He needed to get the clothes to him somehow, and Ed willed himself to simply imagine he would be packing a suitcase or something. But even then, it didn't seem right to stuff clothes INTO your torso, and as such, Ed decided to hold off on pursuing that course of action to see if he could come up with anything better.

Eventually, he gathered what things he could, including a variety of winter and summer clothes and shoes, and he then cast the room a final, long glance before he ventured back into the upstairs hallway.

He shut the door firmly behind him, but in doing so, he managed to catch a fleeting glance at the door at the end of the hallway: the master bedroom; their mother's room.

Ed turned away from it, but slowly, he found himself looking back towards it. He knew he was supposed to be there just for the clothes, but something in him wanted to glance in there, just once. To confirm that the visage that haunted his mind wasn't there.

For not the first time in his life, the young boy made a bad call in judgment, and in a few steps, he was slowly pushing the door open.

The first thing he noticed was the dust. The dust, and the fact that the quilted bed was made. He was struck with the irony that one of the things he and Al had done to prepare for the "expected" return of their mother was to make her bed. Why they hadn't thought to make their own, Ed wasn't sure (since certainly, that would have been even more of a surprise to her), but, sure enough, there was –_her_- bed, vacant and welcoming in its floral hues just as they had left it.

For a minute, Ed just stood there, feeling so many mixed emotions he worried his legs might give out. His hands tightened and shook ever-so-slightly under the weight of the clothing piled high in his hands, and the heavy presence of the image before him. To one side of the bed, the side –_she_- always slept on, was a vase with a now wilted flower in it. He didn't recall seeing it there the last time he'd been in her room, but Ed has little doubt that it had been Al that had put it there as a special surprise for the mother that they hoped to see again. Al was always good with little details like that.

Well-meaning as that single flower was, seeing it wilted and curled and blackened with fallen petals littering its base was as painful as anything he'd seen yet. He felt so sick, so dreadfully sick inside for instilling such false hope in his brother that Al would have put that flower there.

He cringed, but just as he was unable to sleep to drown out the present, he was just as unable to close his eyes to shut out the image before him of his mother's vacant tomb. In that moment he wanted to burn it all.

When he thought the guilt he felt could not possibly get any worse, he heard a creak, and movement from below.

"Ed?" It was a timid version of Winry's voice.

Ed quickly moved down the hall to the top of the stairs as if to prevent her from coming up (or from seeing what he'd been up to). His hands were, however, still piled high with clothes, so it wasn't altogether too difficult to assume.

"How'd you know I was here?" Ed demanded from the top step.

Winry had been glancing at the room around her, but her blue eyes had focused to the top of the steps at Ed's voice, "It wasn't hard to follow your footprints, you know," she responded in a put-off tone, still bundled up in the doorway. She was wearing her burgundy winter coat that was lined in a furry white trim that matched a set of equally furry white earmuffs. But even so, her blond-framed face was flushed from the journey there and the dark morning's angry wind. Her arms were crossed in front of her as she held them close against her to keep warm.

Ed caught her eyes starting to wander to the strange visage around her. She'd heard of death, certainly, she'd felt its impact from afar, but this haunted house… she felt its presence too. She didn't miss the makeshift fort or the sprawled books, but she struggled to make sense of it all and place the boys she knew within the house's darkened walls. This was an era of their lives that she didn't understand, and she doubted she ever would, or that, more specifically, the Elrics would ever let her in as they once had not so very long ago.

When she'd begun to feel overwhelmed, she looked back up at him. He was certain she was going to ask what he'd been thinking coming out here. That she was going ask if he'd completely lost his mind going alone, of all things. Instead, upon seeing the clothes in his hands, she returned her eyes to his face, as if she was trying to put everything else around her in the house as far from her mind as possible and focus on the person before her. "Are those Al's?" she inquired, beginning to suspect Ed's motives in all this.

Ed shifted in place at the top stair and, stubborn as usual, responded, "Maybe! I've got everything under control though. You can just go home. Oh! And you don't need to tell Granny you saw me here."

Winry repositioned her arms and crossed them more forcibly either in an attempt to keep warm, or to demonstrate her stubbornness was capable of matching Ed's own. "Of course I'm not telling Granny," she sounded almost offended, " I was just worried when I saw you were gone when I woke up. C'mon, I can help you carry those."

Ed regarded her and then slowly descended the stairs while trying to make sure he kept his balance and didn't fall with all the clothes stacked precariously in his arms (This was a bit tricky since he didn't have a spare hand to hold the handrail, so he ended up casually letting one of the spikes on his elbow guide him down. He hoped he didn't miss a step, either, since he couldn't see them over the clothes in his hands, and he certainly didn't want to fall in front of Winry).

Once he reached the bottom of the stairs, Ed gathered himself up and shifted around the pile of clothes in his arms. He was about to defiantly inform her (again) that he had things under control, but instead he just stood there looking at her looking back at him. While he tried to glare at her for her intrusion into his private sacred ground and pity party, somewhere inside him he was and almost touched by her insistence. Almost.

Before Ed could speak up, she added, "And you forgot his coat," as she gestured to a closet to one side of the doorway, "the blue one."

Ed regarded her again and finally gave her a resigned sigh, "Fine, you can help."

* * *

For the next few minutes, Winry worked to help Ed store some of the clothing inside his person. Initially, Ed had to work to overcome his own embarrassment and frustration about his condition, but Winry's methodical, almost detached manner of stacking and stuffing things inside him soon put that concern out of mind. Ed, of course, had to supply his own two cents about Winry's manner of organizing things so that they didn't fall into the hollow openings of his legs or otherwise impede his movement, and soon he held up a running commentary on her stacking and stuffing "technique." 

In no time at all the two were bickering about her progress and after an exchange of hollow threats, she resumed maneuvering things inside of Ed's chest cavity so as to keep things in balance as best she could. Her skill at both puzzles and the careful calibration of automail had a subtle way of shining in that moment.

Finally the operation was done, and with it, the unsettling reality of his condition returned to the forefront of Ed's mind. He swore again to himself that he was only doing this for Al, and would not otherwise again be used as a temporary storage device.

The whole sensation was very chilling and surreal, especially because he couldn't "feel" any difference, yet he knew clothing was now stuffed inside him, where soft flesh and vital organs should rightly be.

Ed wanted it over with as quickly as possible.

As the two of them headed outside and locked things up again, he'd cast a final glance inside what was once his home, and still was in some way. A part of him was still trapped in there, lingering in ways he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to resolve. Like the ghost that lurked there still, and the phantom of the fairytale ending that was not to be.

In silence, Ed and Winry slowly made their way through the snow, down the path to the Rockbell household. The wind wasn't as bad anymore, and dawn had begun to creep up on the landscape, replacing shadows with ambient pools of warm light. He'd been so busy thinking how they could get back in time that he'd been taken off guard by her question, "What was that symbol?"

"Symbol?" Ed has responded as he double-checked that his chest-plate was latched in preparation for returning to the Rockbell's.

"Right here," she said, gesturing to the back of her own neck.

The silence around them grew thick again as Ed glanced behind them to the house that now seemed half-swallowed by the surrounding snow, "I…" Ed fumbled for words. He didn't even want to begin to explain the alchemic seal to which he believed Winry was referring.

Winry observed him momentarily, and cut off her question with a statement, "It's so _weird_ it's you in there."

He shrugging slightly and they both continued walking as he struggled to not grow even more self-conscious at her comment (especially with the odds and ends bundled up inside his torso).

"Ed?" she added as an afterthought, "I'm glad you and Al have each other."

He turned his head to the side, unsure of how to respond. In catching her gaze, he hoped he would somehow be able to read her mind and figure out what brought i that /i on. In return she simply looked up at him and offered him a small smile as she withdrew one of her mittened hands from her bundled arms and took one of his large hands in hers, like she used to do when she was hauling him off to an adventure, or yanking on him to slow down so Al could catch up.

But right then, the two figures simply navigated through the winter landscape.

It was a strange thing, but he didn't feel so alone on the path anymore.

* * *

_I can't believe it's been six months too long since I posted another chapter, but this AU and I are still alive, I swear! There is so much to come, and I simply need time to pen it down. _

_Thank you so very much, my readers, for all your comments and feedback, because it really gives me food for thought, and keeps me going. :) Rest assured there won't be as large a "gap" between now and the next chapter!_

_As always: I hope you enjoyed this chapter/the art! Feedback is always eagerly welcomed!_

* * *

-_Kymba_


	9. Chapter 9

**FMA Fan-Fiction + Fan Art: "Threads of Time" Chapter 9 + ART**

_Premise: FMA Divergent AU where, among other things, it was Ed that ended up bound to a suit of armor by his brother, Alphonse, when their attempt to resurrect their mother recoiled and went horribly wrong. Their lives have been forever changed since that fateful night. _

_This story picks up three years later: approximately two years after Alphonse Elric became the State-Certified "Full-Metal Alchemist," making the brothers 13 and 14 (Though the current chapter is in "Flashback" mode)._

* * *

_Characters: Armor!Ed, Automail!Al, and many more to come! _

_Rating: PG_

_Pairings: None _

_Genre: AU, humor, angst_

_Spoilers: None (Due to the degree of AU-nature)_

_Length of this Chapter: 4,324_

_CrazyLostStar is my Beta-Muse._

_

* * *

_

_ART: Available on LiveJournal publicly under username "theregaltigress":_

_Full Image (Available on LiveJournal): "_Reflections " – A foray back into real media! This piece was done in Copic Marker and Multiliners with just a dabble of white gouache for some of the highlights. I actually started out sketching an entirely different composition, but then I started toying with the metallic sheens, and from there… it was a lost cause. :) There's something about the concept that feels really satisfying. This is about 7x5 inches large (and was done on marker paper, for once!).

_Close-Up (Available on LiveJournal):_ A piece of same piece so you can see Al and Armor!Ed a little better. Poor Elrics. :(

* * *

_Here is a much more prompt update than before! There's so much I have in store, and I'm glad to have made it this far. :) Thanks so much, all of you, for the support: I really appreciate it!_

_An now: onto the story! And as always: enjoy!_

_

* * *

_**Threads of Time" - Chapter 9**

A few wintered days passing found Alphonse seated on the edge of his bed, struggling in earnest to purposefully work his shirt on without his brother's help. While he still didn't maintain any fine control over his arm, he'd found a way to tense it up so it would stay crossed over his chest. In theory, this would make the act of putting on a shirt closer to a reality. In practice, however, while he could _almost_ negotiate the left arm and head openings, but he was continually at a loss on the automail side.

Edward Elric watched his brother struggle from a few steps away, trying as best he could to let Al do it on his own, even though every bit of him wanted to aid his brother in so seemingly simple a task.

"I almost got it this time," Al insisted from within the folds of baby blue, "just give me a minute, I'll show you."

"I'll let you, don't worry," Ed assured him from the sidelines. Ed watched on, almost certain Al wasn't going to be able to do it, but there was enough in their lives that was already so frustratingly dissonant that Ed refused to be the voice of pessimism (even if it was reasonable pessimism) in his brother's solitary struggle.

At this point, a part of Ed felt guilty for being so privately pessimistic so he offered aloud, "You're doing good."

A mutter came as his reply.

"Really," Ed added, hoping he sounded convincing, or better yet: encouraging.

Ed watched pieces of elbow, fingers, and dark blond hair poke through the openings in Al's shirt as he continued to negotiate the battle from inside its opaque, cloth confines. As the rustling continued, Ed found his mind trying to wander back to when he and Al were very young and Al would have first learned such seemingly simple tasks: how to dress himself, brush his teeth, tie his shoes. Ed could recall small bits and pieces of memories he assumed were related, but the memories seemed… faded and worn. Ever since that night they'd tried to bring their mother back, so much of his memory seemed more distant and incomplete than he thought it should have been. He still wanted to know what had happened on that night, but Al had yet to volunteer any explanation or inquiry other than if Ed had seen "her."

Neither of them had done alchemy since that night. Ed hadn't poured over a single diagram or equation, nor had he taken time to fine-tune any variety of array. The only structure his mind so often retraced was the array that had become their undoing. Though he knew it was his own hubris that had doomed them, still a small part of him clung to there being a fault in the science, though he logically knew there was none. Science hadn't been wrong: he had.

Alchemy had always fascinated him since he'd watched their father first perform experiments. At that point, it hadn't been so much science to him as magic. Magic that created new and wonderful things without restrictions that a child's eyes could see. In time, he'd understood it to be a science, and the "magic" aspect had fallen away amid calculations and formulas; but even then, when the light of an alchemic transmutation started, Ed had always felt that same rush of wonder that he did the first time he'd witnessed his father performing alchemy. Ed wasn't sure if Al had taken a liking to alchemy because of their father or because of a childish desire to imitate his big brother, but either way, the two younger Elrics had taken up the cause shortly after their father had left them, and the boys had never looked back from that point on.

Now, however, there was a deep, unshakeable fear in him concerning alchemy such that he couldn't trust it like he used to, as though it had betrayed him, or perhaps more aptly, that he had betrayed "it."

Antsy to avoid speaking up (and further annoying Al), Ed flexed his hand and rubbed two thick fingers together. It was weird, not having a sense of touch. Edward was becoming cruelly aware of just how much he'd taken his senses for granted, but moving around in this new body of his was so strange because he had the sensation of almost "floating," if you could call it a sensation at all. He couldn't feel himself interacting with the world around him. He couldn't feel changes in temperate (though the sound of his armor and the mobility of the leather sections gave him a general clue), and he certainly couldn't feel one of his fingers touching the other. It was simply a matter of one finger moving as much as he could make it one direction, and the other finger doing the opposing motion. Wherever they stopped, they stopped. That was one of the reasons he had, and sometimes continued to have, trouble doing such simple tasks as walking: he couldn't "feel" himself make contact with the ground, so he had to gauge it by sound and by when his foot wouldn't move any more in whatever direction he'd intended it to without more force than it should (which was similarly difficult to gauge).

Ed's focus returned to the struggling form of his brother, who seemed to have gotten one arm through a hole in his shirt, but the rest of him was still missing amid the folds of fabric.

"I think you have your hand through the hole for your head…" Ed offered.

"I know, I know. I mean…. I think I knew that," the hand withdrew and was replaced by a blond head with tousled hair. "Why couldn't I have been born left-handed?" Al bemoaned to himself, "that would make this all a _lot_ easier."

"If you need me to I—"

"No, I have it this time, really." Al continued stretching to and fro, and after more long minutes he succeeded in getting his left arm through its corresponding hole in his shirt. He'd apparently given up doing anything with the automail other than lazing it inside his shirt, but for the moment, he basked in the afterglow of conquering the shirt. Mostly.

"I told you I could do it this time," Al insisted.

"You did," Ed agreed, although his mind continued to be elsewhere. It teased him with an empty memory of what had left the brothers' bodies in this condition.

"….Can you help me with the other arm now?" Al bashfully supplemented.

Ed needed no further prompting to step over and assist Al. Truth to be told, the easiest way to get the shirt over his other arm now would be to remove it completely and have Al hold his hands up (or at least one of them up, and Ed could help with the automail one), and put the shirt over his head anew. Ed knew, however, that such a method would take away the simple victory Al had marginally had over the shirt, so instead he worked to see if he could manipulate Al's automail arm so that he could stretch the other opening over the hand and with any luck, find success without ripping the shirt.

As always, Ed was worried about breaking it, since he couldn't "feel" how much pressure he was putting against the artificial limb, "Is it mobile now?" Ed asked, deciding not to bring up that it seemed as though Al's shirt was on backwards.

"I'm still working on that," Al apologized, "I can get it to be sort of relaxed or in a locked position now, but I'm still working on the tensions in between."

"Better to make it lax then, I don't want to risk damaging it."

Al nodded, and in a few moments the arm's joints seemed to loosen up. Al tried to watch what Ed was doing and was making efforts to help him as best he could, but it was also apparent that he was also having to pace his breathing, likely to avoid softly crying out when the limb was extended in certain ways. Thankfully, it seemed as though most ranges of motion were growing a little more forgiving as the days and weeks rolled on. That, or Al was getting used to tolerating the pain. Ed wasn't sure he wanted to consider the likelihood of the latter possibility.

There was silence as Ed slowly stretched the shirt and tried to use his oversized hands to manipulate the thin limb and balled fist through the shirt's sleeve. He was trying his best to focus on the task in front of him (especially since the opening in Al's shirt was smaller than Ed's hand, so he simply couldn't reach right through without outright ripping the shirt), but seeing the scars across Al's body, "holding" the artificial limb in his hands but being unable to feel it, or even its weight… it left Ed with many more questions than answers about what had happened that night, some five months earlier. He wanted to know so desperately, as if the knowledge alone would somehow put him at ease.

But only Al knew.

Ed was certain he heard a pronounced _**'Snap!'**_ as the thread in the hem gave way to pressure. If Al noticed (which he probably did), he didn't say anything about it.

As he struggled to focus on the task before him that required numb, absent fingers to manipulate fragile cloth and rigid steel, his thoughts continued to plague him. Somehow they must have also betrayed him, because as Ed struggled with how he almost, _almost_ dared to approach the subject of "that night" with Al, that he didn't sense Al's own change in expression. He didn't notice Al's eyes regarding the two glowing orbs that shone through Ed's own unchanging countenance until Ed had nearly liberated the mechanical limb.

"… I'm so sorry, Brother …" Al's voice wavered slightly.

The limb finally slipped through, but its freedom brought with it no bright smiles of success. Ed paused, looking over to his brother, "Sorry? C'mon, Al, there's nothing to be sorry about," he didn't know what Al thought it necessary to apologize for, but whatever it was must have been something deep-rooted to have altered his mood so quickly.

"No, it's not okay," Al's eyes were on Ed's own until they dropped away and he looked at the floor, closing his eyes in either frustration, or an attempt to keep himself from becoming emotional, "I can't even see your face anymore. I –know- it's you, but I'm trying to remember what your face looks like. I should know that. You don't understand…"

Ed stiffened slightly and took a seat on the bed next to Al. He wasn't sure of what comfort he could really be, or what this was all about, but above all else, he didn't want his little brother, his only family, to be upset.

Somehow, it was easy to assume whatever it was, was Ed's doing anyhow.

"Then tell me," Ed said quietly, noticing Al's fists were curled into little balls and stiffened in his lap, "It's just me, you know you can tell me anything." While to an extent, Ed may have been right, in practice neither of them were as open as his words implied. When their father had left or their mother had died, they had both grieved for the loss on their own. In hindsight, Ed was wondering where they'd picked up that particular personality trait, but with his brother on the verge of breaking down beside him, Ed was beginning to wonder if all they'd done for so many years was hold back what they were feeling, and for what? He was stuck between wanting to comfort Al, and wanting to understand what was bothering, if not haunting him. He was entirely candid in his words, "I want to understand."

Al's now moistened eyes looked up and met Ed's briefly before being downcast again, "This is all my fault. I had a gut feeling but I didn't say anything--."

Ed could see where this was going, and he wasn't about to have AL accept the blame for the path he, himself had led them down, "Look, Al, -this- is no one's fault, I was the one who—"

And for the first time in perhaps their entire young lives, Al cut his older brother off, "No! Ed, -_listen_- to me," Al's voice was insistent, pointed. "Stop trying to console me like I didn't have any part in this! I did! I was there too! I could have spoken up, but I didn't. I wanted her back just as much as you did, okay?" His eyes were still tightly closed, "And I don't know why it took your body and not mine too, but I'm sorry. I didn't know what to do afterwards. You weren't –_there_.-" His voice wavered.

Ed glanced to Al, not wanting to interrupt him, but also, himself, wanting to understand, "I don't remember any of it, Al," he apologized, "only us starting the transmutation, then when I woke up…"

Silence pervaded the room as Al sat with his head hung while his tiny hands curled into fists. Ed felt horrible asking his brother to tell him what had happened that night when it seemed like every other night Al had nightmares of the very subject, but something pushed him to understand, because it was only through understanding that he would be able to comprehend what his little brother was going through, and holding back. "I'm sorry I wasn't there," Ed said softly. He carefully put one of his gloved hands on Al's good shoulder, "Tell me, please. I want to know."

The room seemed darker than it usually did, as if the silence and shadows were listening in.

Alphonse's breath hitched once as he sat, struggling to find a starting point to all he wanted to say, "When it started to backlash, the black ribbons came. Do you remember those?" He turned his watery eyes up towards his silent older brother, who shook his head twice from side to side. Al downcast his eyes again and continued, "It was like, over where… mom was supposed to be, this portal had opened. The ribbon things pulled you through it as they were grabbing at my leg. You were screaming, we were both screaming. It was so loud!" Al's face was pinched together as he spoke, "I didn't know what was going on, but I was reaching out to you trying to pull you back but I couldn't grab your hand in time. If I'd only been able to grab your hand in time…" Tears were flowing now, and Ed gently squeezed Al's shoulder, reminding him that he was here: that it was all okay now.

"I know you did all you could," Ed reassured Al. It was as if he was hearing a fable from afar with his own name. He told himself once and over again he should be able to remember something, anything at all, but as always: he came up blank.

Al's voice was hoarse now, quiet. "…you just… it was as if the ribbons, those black tendril things were alchemizing your body or something… breaking it down so that there was nothing left. Then you were gone… Your clothes were still there. Your shoes and socks and everything. They were lying there, were you were supposed to be, but you weren't there. Whatever it was took my leg too. And then nothing happened. I thought it was going to come back and finish me off, but nothing happened." His voice grew more panicked, "Nothing happened! I didn't know what to do! We hadn't planned for any of this! And… mom…"

"That wasn't her," Ed spoke with more certainty than he felt.

"…Whatever it was…. it was still moving… making noises… it had eyes, Brother, they _looked_ at me…. there was nothing else in the basement but the light from one bulb that hadn't blown because of the recoil, and I saw it _looking_ at me, and its mouth moving, as if it was trying to speak…." His breath hitched. "… it smelled so horrible down there I thought I was going to throw up. I can't even describe it. And I was bleeding a lot, there was blood everywhere. I knew I was going to bleed to death, I was so scared, and you weren't there…I didn't know what else to do…"

Ed had hung his head as well, trying to piece everything Al was saying into a complete whole. He remembered what was supposed to have been their mother when he'd awakened. It had risen and fallen in places as if it was breathing, pulsing, or simply oozing from the inside out. He'd seen what Al had called the "face" too, although he assured itself that it was just coincidence and random features, and wasn't actually a failed transmutation of their mother, with her soul perhaps locked inside, screaming for release. Whatever it was, he'd never know, but he still pressed his science-clung mind to explain why had the recoil reacted as it had.

"…Then I'd remembered the array we'd found for attaching souls… I know we'd planned to use it in case …mom…. but…" His voice was a thin wail now as he rushed to explain himself, "I felt like I didn't have anything else left to lose! I thought maybe there was a chance I could get you back… I didn't know what else to do… I didn't want to lose you, so I used my blood to draw arrays…"

Ed caught the plural, "Wait, wait… what did you plan to use for materials for the transmutation?"

Silence and Al gripping his automail hand tighter were his only response until Al's voice softly, but firmly replied, "I didn't care, I just wanted you back. You're the only big brother I have! I didn't want to be alone. I'm so sorry, Brother. I didn't think about what I was doing. I'm so sorry!"

And then Alphonse started to truly sob.

Beside him, Ed felt absolutely and completely inadequate in that moment in not only consoling his brother, but in BEING the big brother. While part of him struggled to understand all that had happened, and moreover, all that Al had gone through, a bigger part of him was screaming that all of this, every part of it, every choked sound Al was making, was all Ed's fault. The guilt he felt only intensified as he sat beside Al, trying to figure out what on earth he could say or do to make all the pain he was experiencing simply go away so he could be at peace and they could just… smile again, be themselves without all this haunting him. He'd asked to find out what had happened, and he'd gotten just what he asked for. But he wasn't expecting it to hurt so damn much, and he certainly wasn't thinking it would hurt Al like this.

And now, just as predictably, he hated himself for prompting Al with any of this. He'd gone through so much, and now he was reliving it thanks to Ed's selfish insistence.

"I'm so sorry … so sorry…" Alphonse continued to repeat between harsh sobs and choked breaths. His hands gripped tightly onto the bed sheets while Ed caught a glimpse of their reflection along the back of his brother's automail hand.

The larger figure carefully wrapped an arm around his little brother, trying to silently convey how sorry he was for everything that had happened. He tried to imagine himself in a similar position: what he would have done if Al had been ripped away from him and he'd been left alone. What would HE have been willing to sacrifice in the merest chance of getting his brother back?

_I would have given anything to get him back. _He concluded._ I would have done the exact same thing Al did, if I was that lucky._

Beside him, Al clenched tightly onto the bed sheets while his tears continued to flow. He didn't really respond to Ed's offered hug other than perhaps to lean into it slightly. Maybe Al classified it as weakness or fear that he had done what he did, but Ed marked it as something else entirely. While Ed could presume what he'd have done if the circumstances had been reversed, Al had actually DONE it. He'd been willing to risk everything, even his own life, to get Ed back, and that sacrifice wasn't something Ed was liable to overlook or take for granted.

"I'd like to think I would have done the same thing," Ed quietly offered, hoping it was perhaps what Al needed to hear.

Al's missing limb and his resolve to endure the automail that all-but covered his scarred tissue were testament to his love for his brother. After all Ed had done: for wasting their time with training in alchemy and physical fitness for the singular purpose of bringing their mother back, for filling Al's head with promises that could never be fulfilled, and for inadvertently leading his brother to slaughter while he himself had gotten away with a painless shell… for all of that, Al hadn't held it against Ed: no, he'd cared so much that he was willing to give up his own life to get Ed's miserable one back. What kind of world did they live in that so noble an individual would only be dished out more pain?

Why did it take a trial so testing for Ed to finally begin to notice that his brother was so much more than simply a younger shadow of himself: only so soft-spoken and eager to please?

Beneath him, Al's hand clenched tighter, his knuckles white, as if he was holding on for dear life. It wasn't clear if his big brother's words had made any impact, but the younger Elric bid himself to continue, as if he _needed_ to get everything out at once, "I was hoping it would bring YOU back somehow. The suit of armor was the only thing I could find! I'm not even sure what I was thinking. I probably wasn't thinking. I was just reacting. I was so scared," his honey-colored eyes looked up at Ed, begging for understanding, for forgiveness. Breathlessly, he continued, "When I did the transmutation, I saw things. I was somewhere else, I'm not sure where, but I saw so much! And it took my arm and then I think woke up. Or blacked out. I'm not sure."

Al took only a second to breathe as he nearly cried out, "Brother, I'm sorry I was selfish! I didn't think it could go wrong like this. I---I thought maybe if it didn't work with mom it would just fizzle out or something, and it'd be okay. And if it worked, then we'd have mom back, and maybe we could bring back Winry's mom and dad too! I didn't mean for this to happen. I didn't mean to do this to you. I'm sorry! Brother, I'm so sorry…"

Ed pulled Al closer, lowering his voice as he hung his own head, struggling with his own poignant guilt he carried with him on a daily basis. "Al, this isn't your fault," he said seriously, "NONE of this is your fault, okay? It was my idea to begin with. I'm…" He struggled for words. He was always so horrible with them when they mattered most, "I'm just glad you're okay," he said succinctly, "We're both okay. Please don't beat yourself up for any of this."

Al's eyes were still downcast, but he'd managed to get his breathing in check, and pulled one of his sleeves across his face to blot a runny nose. He sniffled some, but he didn't even notice that for the first time, he'd actually been able to form a complete fist with his automail hand. The small miracle, however, would go by unnoticed by both of them.

As Al's tears ran dry, the fight in him seemed to have momentarily run its course. The guilt that he continued to hold watch over, however, remained locked up inside his young eyes when they finally met with Ed's again. What Ed would have given to erase it from his little brother's eyes. To give them their innocence back.

But Ed knew better. He wanted so much to promise Al that he'd make it up to him, that he'd make it all okay and not to worry because "Big Brother" would take care of it. All of it.

Yet, Ed also he knew he couldn't undo what had been done, what irreversible damage he'd caused. He could only hope, somehow, that _they_ could make it right. "We'll make it right, together," he concluded aloud.

Al sat beside his older brother, who by his own hands had been confined to steel. He struggled to read his older brother's face, and as so many times before, he somehow succeeded: whether metal or flesh, somehow Al continued to be able to see through Ed's tough exterior. Al reached to quietly squeeze a large, leathered hand that Ed wished so desperately in that moment he could simply _feel_. "It's not just your burden, either," Al said succinctly.

Ed doubted that, but he wasn't going to further argue the point.

* * *

Somewhere outside the room, a set of feet quietly crept away from where they'd poised listening by Al's bedroom. She left the doorway wondering what she would have been willing to give to get her own parents, or Ed and Al, back. 

As she snuck back into her room, Winry couldn't help but think that now, after so long, that healing might actually be able to begin. For all of them.

* * *

_If I had a penny for every chapter I plan out that gets pushed back again…_

_Yeah… this chapter was like that. I'd planned for something of this nature later on, but it "needed" to be here, because for humor to re-emerge (in upcoming chapters), for these brothers to start on the next phases of their journey, the healing HAS to begin._

_As always: I hope you enjoyed this chapter/the art! Feedback is always eagerly welcomed!_

_-Kymba_


	10. Chapter 10

**FMA Fan-Fiction + Fan Art: "Threads of Time" Chapter 10 + ART**

**(P.S.: Additional art/images/goodies are linked at the end of the chapter!)**

* * *

Premise: FMA Divergent AU where, among other things, it was Ed that ended up bound to a suit of armor by his brother, Alphonse, when their attempt to resurrect their mother recoiled and went horribly wrong. Their lives have been forever changed since that fateful night.

This story picks up three years later: approximately two years after Alphonse Elric became the State-Certified "Full-Metal Alchemist," making the brothers 13 and 14 (Though the current chapter is in "Flashback" mode).

* * *

**Characters:** Armor!Ed, Automail!Al, and many more to come!

**Rating:** PG

**Pairings:** None

**Genre:** AU, humor, angst

**Spoilers:** None (Due to the degree of AU-nature)

**Length of this Chapter:** 6,155

**CrazyLostStar** is my Beta-Muse

* * *

_ART: Available on LiveJournal publicly under username "theregaltigress":_

_Full Image (Available on LiveJournal): _"Growth" – This was an experiment with collage. All of the texture and such is real media that was layered with acrylic and pieces of newspaper. Scanned and reproduced that and then worked on top of that composite with graphite and a dabble of gouache. It's 8x10 inches, and I enjoyed illustrating this warm and fuzzy scene a lot. :) It didn't end up quite as I intended, but I think the collage aspect of it really fit the "feel" I was going for.

_Close-Up (Available on LiveJournal):_ A fragment of the same image. Hopefully you can see some of the collage/text a bit better here.

* * *

_I wrote most of this chapter in silence, but the soundtrack to "Stardust" powered me through the last phases of editing. :) I can't recommend that particular soundtrack enough._

_Thanks so much, all of you, for the support: I really appreciate it!_

_As always: enjoy!_

* * *

**"Threads of Time" - Chapter 10**

_A month later…_

Pinako hadn't inquired Ed's reasoning for why he wanted a red loincloth made, or what had happened to the old one from some months earlier. The petite woman had simply regarded the figure in front of her which loomed easily two to three times above her with calm, gauging eyes and then taken a puff from the pipe she kept locked to one side of her mouth. She nodded once before she strode around him making measurements by eye. A day later, Ed had fastened the sturdy cloth around himself, repeating internally his promise to restore Al's body and make things right.

Oblivious to his brother's sudden symbolic streak, Alphonse stood alone by his bedroom window, supported only by a crutch as he looked out over the pale landscape. The majority of his time was still spent resigned to his bed, or in his wheelchair, but he was trying his best to, at least in passing, listen to Pinako (and Winry's) suggestion of increasing his stamina with the crutch. He couldn't hold onto a second one because his automail hand still denied him the sort of fine control and stamina he swore it should have had by this point (although he'd long-since "tossed" out his internal recovery timeline, he found now and then that the "overdue" concept still prodded at him). He could, however, clutch onto a crutch alright with his flesh hand, and he thus tucked it under his "good" arm to help keep pressure off his automail leg (which he could now tuck slightly so it didn't simply drag lifelessly along the floor).

He stood silently, trying to ignore the tormenting pull of the automail leg as it responded to gravity's bidding. If he could just get to the point where it would support his weight, he hoped things would be so much better. The thought of actually being able to walk again had started to nudge his progress along. He still couldn't really maneuver on the crutches much at all, but any victory at all was something he eagerly devoured these days. Any change to lying in bed making constellations out of dots along the ceiling was a change he relished.

Al grimaced as he shifted his weight. He looked down to his automail foot as he tried to lower it an inch or two so it would touch the ground, but it wasn't heeding his commands. He'd asked Winry some days earlier if it might be defective, and the color that had sent to Winry's face, and the way she started hollering at him and waving s screwdriver around had sent Ed into "defensive big brother mode" as he stood between Winry and Al, hollering back that she would have to go through him to get to his little brother. Noble as the gesture was, Winry had ceased to be intimidated (assuming she ever really was) and had yelled back full force at the looming tower of armor that was likely three times her size and just so happened to hold the voice of a certain Elric. She had hollered at Ed that that wasn't the point.

"If you don't step out of the way, NOW, Ed, I am going to make sure that when you get your body back you won't even have TIME to enjoy it, I'm going to hit you SO hard …."

By the time they had finished arguing, everyone involved had entirely forgotten how the debate had started, and Al decided from then on that he would never, ever, mention in the smallest capacity that there could be a single problem with his automail.

At least, not in front of Winry.

Once Winry had left, Ed had offered the possibility that perhaps the reason Al was having more problems with his leg was simply because he hadn't been forced to use it as much. Certainly when he laid in bed doing puzzles, or even sat at the dinner table pretending he could manage cutlery with his right hand before eventually switching it to his left, but his arm and hand became the focus of his coordination struggles. In fact, aside from during the daily endurance "sessions" Alphonse endured to strengthen it, he clearly avoided using his leg except for occasions that specifically required its use.

"I guess that's why Winry was so adamant about you working with your leg," Ed had supplied in a sort of defeated way that implied he didn't want to admit she might have been right all along.

"Probably," Al had responded in much the same tone.

But as Al stared out the window, he worked to reassure himself that day-by-day, things WOULD get better. And day–by-day, he wondered where they'd go or what they'd do next, after he'd finally regained his strength. Usually Ed had been the one leading the way. He always had an answer to Al's questions, or at the very least: a direction for them to head. Yet, the elder Elric hadn't said anything about where they would go after Al recovered. Perhaps Ed was keeping it to himself to not put pressure on Al? He wasn't sure, but as Al looked out the window and its overly-familiar landscape, he worked to piece together what he knew into something that vaguely resembled a plan of attack that might take them closer to understanding what had happened, and, eventually, hopefully, would lead them to a way to reattach Ed's soul to his rightful body.

Wherever that was.

Al frowned and shifted where he stood.

Something in him stirred when he glanced at the automail hand that had somehow found its way to rest upon the windowsill. He clenched the fingers, and then relaxed them as he told himself it was past time to make progress.

* * *

When Ed made his way back into Al's room, he had almost hoped Al wouldn't pick up on the new loincloth. Though the color was a symbolic reminder for Ed, that didn't mean that he wanted to explain it, or more aptly, explain AROUND it to his little brother.

Ed realized it was a somewhat ludicrous notion that Al wouldn't notice, not only because the color was likely so vibrant against the polished steel surrounding it, but his little brother and the fastidious way he clung to details… it in no way was going to get past _him_.

Al turned at the noise at the door and noticed his new wardrobe almost instantly as Ed strode forward, trying to look casual as if there was nothing to be concerned about.

Al wasn't sure if in their entire lives whether or not he or his brother had expressed the importance or history of loincloths. Certainly, they had made jokes about the "King of the Jungle" in reference to them, and how strangely crude and silly they looked (offering little protection against the elements or jungle animals), but as far as loincloths in regards to Ed… Al came up blank. Al was fairly certain the armor that Ed now resided in had once had a loincloth. He wasn't sure when he'd last seen it, but he'd always assumed that loincloths were there to cover vulnerable areas, and on something such as armor, it was simply there to disguise the same areas. Al casually wondered if Ed had an issue with modesty, but Al thought it was better to leave that question go unsaid, so he decided on something a bit more obvious, "Red? I never thought you really liked that color."

Ed stopped a moment and then continued walking to sit on the wooden chair by the bed as one hand nervously fidgeted with the edge of the fabric, "Eh, it's okay. I thought it went well with this 'look.'"

Al worked ever so slowly to rotate himself on the crutch while he tried to figure out if his older brother was joking around or not. Humor wasn't anything that anyone in the household had seen in months, and for Ed and Al, possibly years, so Al decided to err on the side of caution, "Oh, yeah. It does," Al nodded; he waited a beat to see if Ed was going to say anything else before he looked longingly back to the window and added in a defeated tone, "I wish they'd let me go outside."

Ed glanced out at the window as well, "Yeah…" he remarked, "you can in a few months, though, you know. It won't be that much longer. But Granny says you're not ready yet, especially for the change in temperature."

Al looked back to Ed, " I know I just… I feel so cooped up in here. I mean… couldn't I just go out for a little while? Neither of them would have to know. We could be really quiet about it and use the back door…"

This wasn't the first time Al had brought this particular scheme up. It was custom for him to mention it, and then in the next sentence, quickly bemoan the sweet reality that kept him chained to the inside of the house for a few months more.

But instead, this time Alphonse continued to look at his older brother with a strange new sense of resolve, "C'mon, you'd help me, right?"

Ed stared back and he heard himself say his words and stating the obvious before he even stopped to think about them, or their implications, "Of course I would."

For the first time in too long, Al's face lit up in a smile, and the reasonable part of Ed, the part that nudged at him that maybe this was a "bad" idea, simply melted away in the sheer joy and anticipation emanating from his brother's face, "Really? You would?"

Ed nodded once as he struggled to beat down the monster of pessimism inside of him that was remarking that Al could hardly use his automail, or stand, and would frequently scream in the shower because the shock of the change in temperate was still such a shock to his system, and yet his older brother was not only condoning this rash course of action, but even _supporting_ it?

But just as excitement was beginning to build in Al's face, it slipped away just as quickly, "Oh…. I don't have winter clothes," Al stated in a sad, deflated way. "Maybe there's something else I can wear… or a few layers?…" His face squinted in deliberation. His now blind resolve was heartening.

"Actually, I got them for you," Ed supplied, as he still tried to run predictions in his mind if this was so notably "bad" an idea that he should call it off before Al got his hopes up any more. That was one of the main reasons he'd gone back to their old house to begin with: Al's clothes.

Those same eyes lit up again, "Really?"

Ed nodded, and within minutes, the Elric brothers were again on a mission: and this one was against doctor's orders, which made it all the more thrilling.

* * *

In the bedroom, Al quickly decided that the most expedient way to allow their plan to transpire without a hitch was to let Ed help him with the many, many layers of clothes that would shield him from the wintertime weather. Two layers of just about everything went on, capped with outerwear, a winter coat, gloves, and boots. There were so many layers, in fact, that Al caught himself wondering if Ed was overdoing things, and he thought about bringing up the point, but he decided if it would get him outside, he was more than willing to tolerate feeing like an overstuffed teddy bear, with his arms forcibly outstretched more than he was accustomed to.

By the time he'd gotten his coat on, he was struggling to use his left hand to brush his hair out of his face, as the static had gotten to it and it now stuck out in various directions without a clear motivation for which direction it fell in. He worked to brush it out of his face with mittened fingers when his brother spoke up.

"You know, I think your hair is almost as long as Winry's hair," Ed remarked, "I'm sure Granny would be happy to cut it for you."

"It isn't _that_ long," Al said in his hair's defense, since it couldn't very well speak up for itself, "Besides: father grew his hair long, there's nothing wrong with long hair."

Al could practically imagine the disgusted face Ed would have made at that moment, "You don't want to look like a _girl_ do you?"

"I don't look like a girl! It's just hair!" Al exclaimed, "And besides: your hair used to be longer than MINE was and _I_ never called _you_ a girl." Al huffed, deflated.

"It wasn't nearly as long as yours is now," Ed gently corrected, with a sort of sibling compassion apparently unique to older brothers, "You could practically braid it."

"It's not that long!" Al retorted, grappling for the ends of it, which he could only imagine to feel through the now dual layers of glove and mitten he wore on either hand.

Ed watched him frantically grapple with the disobedient strands of it for a few moments until he felt a little guilty in being part of the present struggle and let out a long sigh, "Fine, fine, let me at least find something to tie it back with so it doesn't get in your face when we're outside."

Al stopped his struggling for the moment and made a face, and within minutes, his hair was tied to the back of his head with a spare rubber band, and about two or three spare inches of hair that stuck straight out from its messy clump. Ed made sure it was higher on Al's head than where he remembered his father used to put his ponytail, because he clearly wanted to avoid any unintentional similarity.

Even if he thought Al's hair looked stupid, he didn't want it to look stupid AND resemble the bastard of a father he still half-blamed for their mother's early demise.

* * *

By the time they were ready (and Al was layered with a winter hat as well as a set of earmuffs and scarf), Al had begun to second-guess if this was actually appropriate timing on his part to want to go outside. He did WANT to go outside: he'd been trapped in the house for over six months now, and even the idea of a breath of fresh winter air was exhilarating to him in concept, but he DID wonder if it was a good idea. He still couldn't walk without a crutch. He could use his crutch even less with so many layers of fabric cushioned around him, and the weight of the boots threw off his usual vague-maneuverability of his automail.

But he still wanted to just step outside, so deeply, so desperately, that he pushed himself on, even when Ed finally expressed his own sibling concern. Al was quick to notice, however, that Ed wasn't even trying to be persuasive so much as to simply let Al know that they should be careful.

And that Winry was going to kill them if she found out.

Neither Winry nor Pinako, however, were due back for some hours from the store, so the two brothers were fairly certain they could be out and back in long before there was any Rockbell sighting.

If they weren't, or if somehow either of them "suspected," both of the brothers were fairly certain that a they wouldn't hear the end of it for upwards of a week, and that Winry wouldn't be above using tools to drill in the point that what they did was against doctor's orders.

Nothing that Al did was really pain-free. This wouldn't be any different, certainly, but he tried his best to stomach his angry nervous system as best he could.

Al had let Ed push him in his wheelchair to the crest of the door before his brother helped him up again, making sure his crutch was secure before he unlocked the front door. Ed pushed open the door, and the bitter cold rushed in, sweeping against Al's face so briskly that he needed a moment to catch his breath. Ed was watching him, carefully gauging him, "If it's too cold, we can do this another day," he backpedaled.

For a moment, Al didn't seem to hear him. He clutched the crutch supporting him tightly as he braced against the chilling wind, "I'd almost forgotten how BIG it is out here."

No matter how many layers he had on, however, he could still feel the cold sneaking in on him, and he did his best to ignore its cold, prodding fingers. He simply wanted to relish the experience (that he might never have again, if Winry found out). As if lured by a piper's song, he tried to take a cautious step forward, but the crutch started to slip out from underneath him.

Alphonse didn't fall, however. A set of large hands kept him steady, "It's kinda icy here on the porch," Ed said apologetically, knowing full-well just how slippery they were, since he had taken more than one haphazard tumble down them, himself, "Want me to carry you down them? I'm sure you'll be fine once you're on the ground."

It took another moment for Ed's words to register, so focused was Al on the world now so suddenly open to him outside. Al turned his fleece-framed face up to Ed's while his dark blond bangs danced in the wind, "Sure. I've just been inside so long. I just want to feel what it's like again."

Ed nodded then, and before he could catch himself, he replied, "I want you to enjoy it for both of us."

* * *

It took Ed about three long minutes to close the door behind them and carefully navigate the stairs: a task that was ever more precarious with Al in his arms. Ed pushed away the thoughts of "that night" as he cradled his brother, hoping that this once he could make it down the stairs without cause for alarm. His own body was forgiving (if you could call it that) of tumbles, but Al was still far-too-fragile for such a fall, and Ed was even more concerned about the very real possibility that his sharp, spike-covered body could fall on _top_ of Al in respect to such a tumble.

The aftermath of that thought was something Ed decided to avoid exploring.

The entire operation, however, went uneventfully, and once they reached the bottom of the stairs, Ed had inwardly breathed a sigh of relief before he retrieved Al's crutch. He wasn't sure how useful it would actually be in the snow, but Alphonse seemed hell-bent on trying to support himself and use it. Though Al was cringing against the elements, it wasn't hard to see how relieved he was to be out of the house. It was as if stepping outside had awakened a part of his little brother. Even though Ed was certain, absolutely CERTAIN that it had to hurt to move, Al's resolve pushed him slowly onward through the first wave of snow. Though it went unsaid, his pain tolerance seemed to be increased when he was alongside his ever-watchful older brother.

Slowly, Al trudged forward. He didn't move quickly, or even easily, but as he limped forward, he did it with purpose and didn't complain. What a pair they must have been: the crippled child and the towering lost soul, wandering alone in the snow.

Ed stayed close to Al's side the whole while, and they made it a good thirty feet or so into the virgin snow when Al suddenly cringed and stopped. For a moment, Ed could feel worry rise inside himself, until he saw the smile that lay plastered over his brother's now cold-reddened face.

"Brother?" Al asked.

"Yeah?" Ed responded, trying his best not to let concern seep through into his reverberant voice.

"I think…. Automail is a little overrated." As Al said this, he slowly worked to lower himself into the snow, "Remember when we had that fight over whose would be better?

This got a small chuckle from Ed, who sat down to join his brother in the snow, "It wasn't all that long ago, wasn't it only a summer or two ago?"

"Well, it seems like a lot longer," came Al's reply. His eyes were closed as he sat, listening to Ed's voice, imagining his older brother there beside him as he once was. The same brother that had hotly argued about the many reasons _"his" _proposed automail was bound to be superior. They'd argued schematics, about all variety of coy and clever attachments not limited to boyish gadgets (Ed had specified his would have every variety of possible cutlery so he'd never have to worry about dropping his spoon when he had stew).

More than a year earlier, he'd bragged about style and creative uses for automail, about why it would be superior to "regular" limbs, and of course how each Elric insisted they would have better automail than the other.

The debate had gone on for quite some time, until the young boys had resorted to putting in their final few creative bargaining chips before Ed had claimed himself victorious.

Al, however, had other ideas, and ended said debate with, "Well, you can say that, but no matter what you say, mine would STILL be better on principle."

"Oh? Why's that?" A younger Edward, with his usual cocky grin had crossed his arms and replied.

"Because I'm taller than you, so OBVIOUSLY my automail would be bigger, and thus: better!" Al had maturely ended his point by sticking out his tongue, and some minutes later the two of them were wrestling in the grass to the tune of "Are not!" and "Are too!"

As if the olden debate needed no introduction, the suit of armor remarked from his seated position in the snow, "You weren't taller than me, you know. You just made that up to distract me from the perfectly valid points I'd made."

A very well-insulated Alphonse continued smiling and rolled his eyes, as always, "Of course I did, Brother. And that's precisely why you got so worked up about it."

Ed made a small "Hmph!" as he flicked a lose frock of hair out of his face and then neatened the loincloth across his lap before looking over at Al, who was working to "comfortably" position himself in the snow.

Once situated, the younger Elric ran a double-insulated mitten through the snow, crafting what crudely resembled a snowball with one hand. He shifted and squirmed where he was as if he couldn't quite get comfortable.

It was strange, sitting out in the snow again. Ed couldn't feel a thing: not the cold, the wind, not even the mashed ball of snow he toyed haphazardly with between his thick fingers.

But Al? Al felt too much.

"Are you cold at all?" Ed inquired.

"A little, but I'm fine," Al shivered once, but he steadfast in his desire to drink up every bit of the "outdoor" experience while he still could. "Hey…. have you done any alchemy since….?"

"Nah," Ed remarked, a bit more softly than he intended. He wasn't sure if it was more that he was cautioned against the subject, or if he wondered if he was still able to do it at all. So much of his life seemed engrained in the subject, so the thought of possibility not being able to do it seemed a harsh sentence.

"Me neither," Al replied. "We could, here, you know?" Something in Al's tone reminded Ed of himself: that twinge of curiousness, just waiting to be tested.

There was something else in Al's face, though, when Ed looked up to try to read it. He couldn't quite pin it, but there was something in Al's tone that implied his request held deeper importance to him.

And it did. Even though Al couldn't put into words why exactly he wanted to perform alchemy with his brother just then, somewhere deep inside of him he wanted something to replace the memory of the last time they'd performed alchemy. He wanted a reaffirmation that the science could still be used to create rather than to destroy lives and possibly worse.

He wanted a fleeting glance into alchemy as it once was, before it had become so convoluted in his mind. And they had to go back to using alchemy eventually. They were both good at it, and more than once he'd heard adults whisper that Ed was a child "genius" concerning the complex science. And really: they were just kids. They didn't really have any viable skills _except_ alchemy.

Al used the end of his crutch to draw in the general shape while Ed worked the finer details. It was a simple alchemic equation, really. Chemicals in the water and air would be reconfigured to form heat, which would trick the plants below into premature germination and accelerated growth as they absorbed the converted nutrients.

The two of them looked over the array, etched so precisely, so innocently into the snow in front of them. "Ready?" Ed asked.

"Ready," came Al's reply.

A synched pair of claps echoed across the landscape followed moments later by a bright blue light, which alighted the crisp markings in the snow.

When their hands had hit the array, both of the boys had quietly wondered to themselves if Ed could still perform alchemy in his current condition. The concern, however, appeared unfounded, because as soon as their hands hit, they could each "feel" not only the alchemy they were stimulating, but they could also feel the familiar "presence" of the other brother working in tune with them to mold the reaction just so. The bond between the two of them seemed re-solidified in that moment as they controlled the elements within the equation and their desired interactions and reactions.

Al could remember reading about alchemy using two individuals when he was very young. It wasn't very common practice simply because there was an understandably large room for error the minute you had two scientists trying to control a single experiment.

Maybe it was because they were brothers that they were able to get beyond this traditional hurdle. Al wasn't sure, but in his mind the sensation he felt whenever he did Alchemy with Ed was sort of somewhere between a well-choreographed dance and collaborative cooking. Teacher had taught them that alchemy started in the kitchen, so perhaps that was why it seemed an appropriate comparison, but in his mind, he could almost imagine the two of them like two well-coordinated cooks in a kitchen "controlling" the alchemic reactions where each of them saw fit. They knew not only what they wanted, but they knew each other well enough to be able to predict each other's reactions (and they also, more formally, knew when to proverbially stay out of the other brother's "way"). They knew their strengths and weaknesses and how to make adjustments for them. If one of them felt something going awry, they would "push" their presence forward to be able to take control of things.

And though it was a relatively simply equation that they worked on, there was something in their synergy that was a familiar, welcome feeling. The only thing that caught Ed was "strange" was that it seemed Al had a much stronger "presence" during the transmutation than he recalled him having. Well, that or Ed was getting rusty, and he wasn't about to have any of that. He _was_ the older brother, after all. And he could still do alchemy.

But as the first fragile plant arched its way through the crest of white snow, Ed's scientific mind faded away for a moment as he caught himself simply observing what would seem to so many to be nothing other than a miracle.

"That never gets old," Alphonse spoke up as the growth completed. He scooted around the edge of the array so he could rest his weight against Ed's side. The struggle through the weather and the transmutation had obviously taken its toll on him, but he was making no motions to get up and return to the house. He shuddered once and blew into his hands to warm up, but even as the weather worked against him, a smile laid spread across his face. Ed wasn't sure if he'd seen Al smile so brightly in years, and yet here he was, smiling for the most ridiculous reason: that he was shivering out in the cold next to his brother, and that was precisely what he wanted to be doing at that very instant.

* * *

Less than thirty minutes later Winry and Pinako had returned earlier than expected, and while there was some amount of yelling due to the brothers, they both were rather surprised that the Rockbells seemed more impressed than angry. It wasn't the usual brand of physical therapy prescribed, but the "Elric" variety of therapy had at least succeeded in exercising Al's coordination and stamina, so they couldn't fault him for that.

Winry actually ended up lazing outside with them in the snow for a few minutes (after she made absolutely certain Al was faring okay). They made what crudely resembled snow angels and then just laid on their backs in silence as the snow started to pepper the noontime sky once again.

"Well, at least we know who has the best automail," Ed remarked after a minute.

"Hmm?" Al said as he lazily tried to see if he might be lucky enough to get a snowflake to land on his outstretched tongue as he lay still on his back. Winry, herself, smiled pleasantly, as if waiting for the inevitable compliment to her craft.

"Yeah, I have full BODY automail. Beat that!" came Ed's response.

Al abruptly closed his mouth and then opened it again to gape in Ed's direction. Ed hadn't chanced a joke in ages, especially one at his own expense. It was so entirely unexpected, but it was so very, very "Ed" to declare himself the resounding "winner" in such a ridiculous competition. Then again, when Al looked at it that way: maybe there was some sort of twisted humor to be had on the whole.

Winry, however, hadn't yet gotten the memo, and hotly declared, "That's not automail, you dolt!" as she sat up and unceremoniously chucked a handful of snow in Ed's direction.

It was Al who laughed first. A high, joyous sound that he covered with one mittened hand as if he worried that someone else overhearing it might somehow accidentally involve him in the snowball fight that was due to break loose at any moment. A second later, however, Ed too was laughing at how worked up Winry had gotten over the automail remark, and in due time even Winry found herself brightly laughing while she lobbed impeccably aimed snowballs at the empty suit of armor (and he retaliated in kind).

They hadn't laughed like that in years, and there they were: laughing together as if they were kids again, never stopping to wonder how or why humor had so coyly reemerged

* * *

Pinako stood on the doorstep as she adjusted the pipe in her mouth. "About time," she remarked aloud. The petite little woman smiled to herself and then quietly went back inside.

* * *

"We need to find a way to get our bodies back," Al had whispered out of nowhere later that night. Ed had been fairly certain that Al had been dead asleep for upwards of an hour, so the sudden voice made him jump, and almost slip out of the chair in which he'd be quietly sitting.

"Shhh!" Al hissed at the darkness.

Al wasn't the only one having such thoughts. Ed's mind still eagerly clung to the possibility that somehow, someway, they'd be able to undo all of this, all of the careless mistakes he'd made. That there was still some fleeting way to wipe the slate clean. But every time Ed found himself dwelling over the possibilities he knew of, he promptly found himself kicking himself for even CONSIDERING returning down that path he'd so haplessly led them down already.

And perhaps that was why, as Al spoke up, Ed listened. Really listened.

It wasn't that Ed didn't listen to his brother's ideas before; it was simply that Ed had always assumed his own ideas were superior to Al's. He was one year older, after all. That had to account for more experience. And the fact that Al was usually so happy to follow Ed just went to reaffirm Ed's own stubborn hubris.

But now, Ed found himself listening to Al in a way he hadn't before.

"We need to find a way to get our bodies back," Al repeated in a whisper. "But we can't go back to Teacher, because she…."

"She'd kill whatever's left of us," Ed groaned.

Ed could imagine Al nodding in the darkness, "…Yeah…. we should probably stay clear of Teacher for awhile…."

Silence slipped over the room once again, and when something creaked outside their door, the two of them bolted upright, as if they worried the mere mention of Izumi's wrath had unwittingly summoned her. After an achingly long minute of silence (during which both boys strained to hear any additional signs of movement), they resettled themselves to resume their scheming.

"…What did you think of that Mustang guy?" Al inquired, always depending on Ed's opinion for guidance.

"The military dog?" Ed inquired with a scoff, as if Al could mean anyone else.

"Yeah, he said something about how we should visit him in Central," Al's tone showed he had thought this out. "He's a State Alchemist, right? That means he has to have access to all sorts of stuff that might be able to help us."

"Yeah, he probably does," Ed agreed, but wasn't willing to supply anything more.

What Al was searching for in that moment was direction, and a plan. Old habits were, however, hard to break. While Ed stalled and stewed in self-doubt, wondering himself what they should do next, but not wanting to again lead them further down the path to ruin, Al had gently prodded him for thoughts on what they were going to do, looking to him for guidance as he always had. Ed had found a variety of clever ways to avoid the question of what they should do next (and more precisely: Ed had discovered a plethora of ways to cleverly avoid his REASON for avoiding the question), but eventually Al, the observant boy that he was, had found a way through Ed's exceptionally stubborn defenses.

"I wonder what someone like him would want with us," Al remarked to a pitch-black ceiling that he had come to know so well that even in the dead of night, he could STILL impeccably imagine what the ceiling looked like even to its smallest detail.

"He's military," Ed supplied from across the room, as if that was answer enough before adding, "He must think we'll be useful to him somehow." The suit of armor scoffed, letting years of hearing about the many evils and underhanded ways of the military from Granny Pinako, Teacher, and firsthand, their absent good-for-nothing father, bubble to the surface. Ed's tone shifted then, "But maybe he could be useful to _us_. I mean, that Mustang guy is a State Alchemist. State Alchemists have access to the State Libraries, and I'm sure all sorts of secret military information. If there is anything at all that can help us, I bet that's where we'd find it."

"We could become State Alchemists," Al stated, following Ed's unspoken logical conclusion. Indeed, he had been considering something along those lines, but Edward's own inner-commentary only solidified Al's decision.

"Nah, Al, we don't _both_ need to. It's safer if you didn't, besides."

But Ed wasn't going to deter his brother this time, "You're not doing it alone," Al insisted, "I'll get stronger, Brother, and we'll _both_ go to Central and become State Alchemists so we can get our bodies back. You'll see."

The final decision had been Al's certainly, but Ed couldn't help but feel as if he'd had a heavy hand in fostering it there, even if he hadn't done so intentionally.

* * *

Years later, as Ed sat beside his ailing brother at the darkened, ethereal train station, he couldn't help but wonder how far they'd really come since that day, and if they'd made a bargain with the devil by having any part in getting Al signed up for the military.

Their present situation, in particular, was no thanks to one Lieutenant Colonel Mustang.

* * *

…_And thus did I finally escape from the jaws of Eternal!Flashback…. cheering_

_As for additional art (link intensive, but oh: so very, very worth it)… (__ART: Available on LiveJournal publicly under username "theregaltigress"):_

_1.) I actually drew __Fan Art: "Threads of Time" Armor!Ed in the Snow: for a scene that was reworked for this chapter (if you look at the date of that entry (November, 2006), you'll see just how LONG this extended flashback of doom has affixed itself to my brain ;;). _

_I have some incredible friends and fans, and I wanted to take a moment to thank them SO much for not only motivating me, but in some rare and precious instances, even gifting me with art. ;; _

_2.) x0whitelily0x caught me totally off-guard with this incredible illustration she sent me of ToT!Alphonse. Gah! The beautiful angst/melancholy, it kills! I am not worthyyyy!_

_3.) __ToT Fan-Art/Comic from : x0whitelily0x and banner from GreenfireMantl (scroll down for it) - Both of these made me laugh so. Freaking. Hard. Your senses of humor are impeccable, and I feel so touched that the fruit!angst lives on! XD_

_4.) FMA ToT: I Don't Deserve This...__ (ie: ToT Crack Doodles by CrazyLostStar) - Oh god, the beauty. ;;_

_5.) CrazyLostStar illustrates an untold scene where ToT!Ed enters his old homestead and braves the darkened basement, only to find "Mom" waiting right where he left her…_

_6.) and 7 "Threads of Time" Crack Icons (by CrazyLostStar), complete with links to random omake crack in the same entry. Also More ToT!Angst Icons and others which make me wibble. ;;_

_8.) And as a random note: while I was away recently, apparently my dear, sweet parrot attacked my ToT!Alphonse Doll. cringe He wasn't fatally wounded in the encounter, but I will need to repair him a bit before I get around to posting photos of his various sets of ToT and movie-themed clothes. _

_9.) And…. have a random ToT!Al sketch (a tiny one that's about two inches large), from the present I intend to return us to next chapter (er… or a few years later, seeing how he looks )!_

_

* * *

_

_  
In any case, as always: I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter/the art! Feedback is always so very appreciated, and thanks for withstanding that Flashback of Ultimate Doom with me! HUGE hugs_

_-Kymba_


End file.
